


Games People Play

by trixiechick



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Emotional pain, M/M, me pretending to know things about actual tennis, one rough non-con scene, sex (many kinds), vicious flirting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-03-01 00:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 50,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13282986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trixiechick/pseuds/trixiechick
Summary: Misunderstanding, hurt emotions, pain, sex, love... all tools in the game.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this is something i wrote... well, it was finished in May of 2005. so, it's pretty old now. i'm posting a few older fics here, but i've moved all of my old fics to a google drive folder, [which you can see here if you are interested.](https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1X6XeCxd7tMvEZIYd7qdQe2QDQMKzbK0c?usp=sharing) anyway, someone did ask me about this, and that led me to reread it, so i thought... why not? i'll post it here. please enjoy!
> 
> •
> 
> takes place post-series, much post series... there is Atobe/Fuji. And Fuji/Tezuka. ultimately, and initially, fuji/tezzie, but there will be a great deal of fuji/atobe in the meanwhile.
> 
> pairings/characters - Fuji/Tezuka, Fuji/Atobe, then Fuji/Tezuka again, Oishi/Eiji, Yumiko, Yuuta/OFC, some Yuuta/Mizuki, Inui, Taka, Yuushi/Gakuto, Saeki/Ann, Yukimura/Sanada, Momoshiro, Kaidou, Echizen
> 
> •

He didn't like this grip tape; it was the gel kind, too soft. He could put the overgrip on it, but then it would be too thick. He wound the tape around the handle of his racquet slowly, a quarter turn at a time. 

London in August was usually a bit warm, but it was downright hot now. There was no air conditioning in their apartment, so they had all the windows wide open. He sat on the edge of the bed, facing the window, the sounds from the street echoing down the alley, like he was out there and not inside. 

He never liked this bedroom, and had even suggested they pass on the apartment because of it. It was too small, and too green. There was something about it... just no good way to arrange the furniture. He'd never slept in here before. In fact, he'd never slept in a different bed than Tezuka unless they were in different places, not for years.

Not that he thought he would really sleep tonight. He should, of course, but should was a complicated word. By the time the match began tomorrow, he would be running on pure adrenaline, anyway. Two in the afternoon... it seemed so long. He wished he could just... be on the grass already. Start the match already. Better yet, end the match already...

He twisted his racquet one-quarter turn. 

There was some strategy in what he was doing. Despite the heat, the bed seemed cold without someone to share it with; still, it would affect Tezuka more to be alone than it would him. Tezuka was not overly communicative, even about the most important things, and so it was easy to undermine his confidence in their relationship. A night alone would leave him wondering if things were all right between them. If he left before Tezuka woke up, and didn't see him until the match, it might leave Tezuka off-guard for the first few games. Of course, the first time Tezuka met his gaze, he would see the truth.

Another quarter turn.

It was a kind of strategy against Tezuka, but more than that, he needed to clear his head. In all the important matches of his life, he had looked deep inside himself and found a fire within to keep himself going, to keep himself in the game. Since he had turned pro, he had worked hard to keep his goals in mind all the time. Grand Slam. Top five. Wimbledon. Tomorrow afternoon, either he or Tezuka would become the number one men's singles tennis player in the world, the first person from Japan to do so. Either he or Tezuka would be the champion of Wimbledon. He smiled wryly.

Another quarter turn.

It didn't matter to him which one of them won. That was the problem. There was no fire in this match. He'd played Tezuka more than he had played any other player in the world, but he'd never wanted to win, and tomorrow would be no different. Either way, he would meet his goals. 

Another quarter turn.

Nostalgia crept up to him like a kitten. His rivals from his youth were magnified through the lens of memory to epic proportions, as if, back in the day, they had all been super men, with magical powers, battling heroically in magnificent and historic matches. He remembered stepping onto the court with righteous fury over his injured teammates, or friends. His smile turned sad.

Another quarter turn.

There was no chance that he could hate his opponent tomorrow. Tezuka was the noblest player he had ever known. No fire of vengeance, no desire to achieve, no hope of wanting to prove himself superior... 

It was going to be a disaster. 

If Tezuka was off-balance for the first few games, he might be able to take a match. Once they got playing for real, he could hold his own, but... After rising through the ranks of Wimbledon to get to the finals, he was going to lose completely to Tezuka. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't mind at all, but the world would be watching.

Another quarter turn.

It wasn't supposed to be this way. If Echizen hadn't stupidly injured himself on a dirt bike the day before Wimbledon, they would have been in the same bracket, and he would have lost to Echizen in the semi-finals. It would have been acceptable, and he definitely would have made his former kohai earn it, but then it would have been Tezuka and Echizen in the final, and he could have watched on the sidelines and cheered quietly for Tezuka. Unfortunately, Echizen had to scratch out, and now his hopes of being the first number one player from Japan would go to Tezuka. 

Another quarter turn, and he was at the top of the racquet. He pulled at the tape, unwinding it, and started over.

The pro tennis world was a bit lonely, really. So few of the giants of their youth had survived to this point... Really, only himself, Tezuka, and Echizen. Sanada had ripped the tendons in his elbow in high school, and he had never been the same. Yukimura gave up tennis and skipped college, modeling part time to finance his writing. Kirihara had broken his kneecap while training in California. Atobe had been in a car accident three months after getting on the pro circuit, and had been unable to play the same afterward. Jirou started as a pro, but was never able to distinguish himself, and went back to Japan to teach. Hiyoshi had hit a slump in high school, and given up tennis for judo. Aoi had strained his elbow, and while he was working to recover, become interested in medicine. Sengoku continued to play as an amateur through college, and then he went into law. 

He smiled down at his racquet. He would laugh if he weren't alone. The press had taken to Tezuka. Apparently, he had the sort of good looks that appealed to westerners, which he could hardly blame them for, but it put Tezuka under the microscope. He was in People magazine's 50 hottest people issue that year. The picture they took of him could very well have been pornographic - Tezuka in an all white tennis outfit, under a waterfall. They had asked him to not wear underwear to prevent "bunching." It was a good picture... He had been there during the photo shoot, and had arranged to get copies of all the negatives. Tezuka was quite stoic about all of his "marketing" obligations, treating each interview and photo shoot as a task that needed to be done. He had even hired an American publicist, to make things "run more smoothly," he had said.

He didn't like Tezuka's publicist, and he didn't like spending so much time away from home. He missed being with his family, though he couldn't explain that to Tezuka. He disliked the way the westerners said and spelled his name. He disliked the strange, greasy food they were surrounded by so often. He disliked how familiar strangers were to them. He even had grown to dislike the tedium of the matches.

He pulled the grip tape off completely, and closed his eyes. 

One day at a time, one match at a time, one game at a time, one point at a time. That was the path he had chosen. One point at a time...

He had to think strategically. He had to find some way to motivate himself beyond the simple desire to win. He had to find a way to reach his inner wells of strength. Thing was, he _could_ beat Tezuka, at least in theory. His best game was better than Tezuka's best; he knew this intellectually. Tezuka poured himself into every swing of his racquet. It was glorious to watch. He needed more, however.

He rummaged through his tennis bag, and found the unopened package of grip tape. He didn't like this brand, either. They had discontinued his favorite brand two years ago. Inui had tried to explain to him that the technology had improved, so his favorite was now considered to be obsolete, but the idea was ludicrous. Technology had no part in tennis, and he would never understand why a tennis racquet should be cushy. Inui said that his grip was light, and that he had a natural manner of holding his racquet that reduced the strain on his wrist. He thought his manager might have spent too much time on the data.

He started over again, moving the racquet one-quarter turn at a time again. 

There would be no fire. And he would lose. He could accept these things as givens. But he didn't want it to be an easy match for Tezuka. It didn't matter if he loved the man; Wimbledon should not be an easy win. He _was_ capable of doing very well. He knew it. 

He just needed a reason. 

A wry smile played across his face. He spent more and more time in the pros looking for a reason. It wasn't like the tennis of his youth. He could remember when training was fun. Now, the most interesting part of his "job" was watching the photographers doing _their_ jobs during Tezuka's photo shoots. Half the time, he was sure he could do it better. If he was known for anything off the courts, it was that he was a "bit of a photog," as that American mag had said. 

He sighed, and stilled his hands. He was winding this too tightly. He would need to start over. 

He wondered sometimes if he was jealous of Tezuka's popularity. He wondered if maybe he would be happier if he were more of a fan favorite. But it wasn't worth his effort, really, and there was a certain satisfaction in trouncing the crowd pleaser. There was already a lot of press about their match tomorrow. About Japan moving into center stage in the tennis world with this unprecedented match. About "two great _friends_ " meeting on the lawn. The fans would be cheering for and swooning over Tezuka. Not that he didn't have fans as well, but he wasn't one of the 50 hottest People. 

Still, there would be no satisfaction in trouncing the crowd pleaser tomorrow, because he was Tezuka's biggest fan.

He went to the window, and looked up to the sky. There were no stars visible here. The moon was blocked out by the building across the alley. He smiled. The only thing above him now was the bleakness. 

He tossed his racquet in his bag. Inui didn't know why he kept the thing. He never used that old racquet anymore, anyway. He had never really used it, actually, but it was the first racquet he had bought on his own, and there was something comfortable about the grip. But technology, once again, had rendered the racquet useless. He pulled out his wristwatch, and frowned. It was the day, finally, but only by a few hours. He was lost in a space of timelessness where he was both surprised by how early it was still, and surprised that it wasn't later. He pulled his cell phone out, and zipped up the bag, messing up the bed on his way out the door.

He was quiet, and he didn't dial until he was out of the building. The night air was still and muggy, and moving through it felt good. The streets in the summer seemed softer, and he had quite a bounce to his step, now that he was in motion. Of course, his manager picked up the phone on the first ring.

"Fuji. You're later than I expected you."

"You never could get good data on me, could you?" There was honest affection in his tone, as there was in Inui's. They had known each too long, probably, but it was good to have someone close to you that understood you when you spoke your own language.

"Already on the move, I gather? Shall I pick you up, or do you want to walk?"

"I'm fine walking. Inui, any chance you can pick me up some film on your way there?"

"I already got it in anticipation of your need. See you in twenty, then, and be careful."

He hardly needed to be told that; after all, he'd been living with Tezuka for nearly five years now. The perils of a lack of care were firmly rooted into his consciousness.

* * *

  


They stayed at the public court until about noon. Inui had connections in every major city where tennis was played, so all Fuji had to do was sit back and watch it all happen. They shared a light bento on their way to Wimbledon. Fuji tried to get Inui to share some of his wasabi sushi, but his manager wasn't biting. He obediently drank the juice Inui gave him only after he got a complete list of ingredients, as always. They warmed up together, and Fuji took a shower in his private dressing room before dressing for the day. Inui had his racquets prepared, and his preferred water ready and waiting. The only thing to do was to go out to the lawn.

Oddly, he was rather anxious to see Tezuka again. He leaned against the wall in the tunnel leading out to the court. So much for strategy; he would give it all away as soon as he could. He never stood a chance against Tezuka.

Inui tugged at his elbow, and held out a phone for him. He took it, a bit surprised. Normally, Inui discouraged outside contact up to an hour before a match. "Hello?"

"Aniki?"

Fuji smiled instantly. "Yuuta. What are you doing calling?"

"Your manager and I decided it would be a good idea. Do me a favor, all right?"

"Of course. Anything." His brother's voice was like cooling balm to him. He wished Yuuta and Yumiko, and even his parents, could be here now. Yumiko would have been if she weren't pregnant, and Yuuta stopped going to his pro matches after he got thrown out of the Australian Open for arguing. 

"Don't embarrass yourself too much out there. I don't want everyone at home talking about how my brother takes it up the ass from the Wimbledon champ."

"I'll try, Yuuta, but you know, it's not really such a bad thing."

"I don't need to know the details of your sex life, Aniki."

"Mm, you did bring it up, not me..."

"Kick ass, aniki." 

The affection in Yuuta's voice threw him off his normal teasing. "Thanks."

Inui tapped his elbow again, and took the phone back. "It's time."

Fuji smiled, and headed for the lawn.

* * *

  


It wasn't clear to him when he understood. There was just a sense that he hadn't understood before, but he did now. The sun was bright and high, even this late in the afternoon. The crowds were loud, but to his ears, they were very far away. The fresh smell of grass was always the best part of Wimbledon, and for some reason, it was even stronger today.

He was sweating, the kind of good sweat that made him feel cleaner, stronger. Tezuka was sweating, too, and it was damned sexy. He couldn't place the exact moment when he figured it out, but he knew now.

They passed each other as they changed courts. He smiled as he spoke, his gentle voice a mere whisper in the wind. "Tezuka?"

Tezuka paused, and really looked at him. He smiled, because there was nothing quite like being looked at by Tezuka. "Yes?"

"We'll have to celebrate tonight. Let's stay in... champagne and chocolate, maybe?"

Tezuka's soft smile was for him and him alone, and if he hadn't known before, he hoped he would have figured it out now. "Sounds good."

He took his position at the baseline, and prepared to serve. 

Tennis had never been more fun.


	2. Part One

Of course, his hair was perfectly coiffed. When _wasn't_ his hair perfect? He hated getting up in the morning, hated wearing the same boring, if finely tailored, suits, hated the routine of meetings. Hated his job. But there were things that had to be done.

He looked in the mirror, like he did every morning, before slipping on his shirt. His porcelain skin was marred by a spider web of fine scars, branching out from his left shoulder and moving down his back and chest. There was one long scar on his shoulder that shined a bit at certain angles. 

He pulled the silk over his skin, and buttoned it up, his fingers slipping over the polished glass buttons. There was something comforting about the rituals of luxury. He tucked his shirts into his pants, and buckled his leather belt. He pressed the small red button, and watched his ties spin around in a whirling dance of colorful silk. He stopped at the red tie with the white stripe running down the length. It was a good compromise between conservatism and style.

He slipped on his blazer, and buttoned it up, admiring his profile in the mirror. He was _gorgeous_. 

He walked out of his closet, and closed the door softly behind him. Their bed was a mess, the sheets tangled and mussed up haphazardly. His lover was curled up on his side, facing the edge of the bed. Atobe shook his head, amused, and crawled over to him from the other edge. His lover's face was absolutely angelic when he was asleep, a deceptive beauty that never failed to inspire him. He crawled over to his lover from his side of the bed, and twisted a few fine, beautiful strands of soft brown hair between his fingers. He leaned over to kiss along his lover's jaw line, brushing the earlobe with his nose.

"Mmmits..." Fuji was still lost in dreams; dreams of another man.

Atobe smiled with pragmatic acceptance, and twisted Fuji's nipple hard.

Fuji's gorgeous eyes flew open, and he made the most adorable yelping noise. "Keigo! It's too early to be awake."

Atobe had to agree with Fuji, and besides, when Fuji did that sexy pout thing he was doing now, it was hard to disagree with him, period. But if it had to be his row to hoe, he'd give his lover a taste of it, as well. "You say that, but I'm already running late. Now kiss me and let me go."

One slim arm reached up to pull him down for a kiss that made him want to stay in bed all day long and feast upon this sumptuous flesh, but meetings were meetings, and he did enough to displease his father as it was. He kissed his fingers before waving goodbye, and climbing over Fuji to get out of bed. He was almost out the door when Fuji's voice rose out from the behind the sheet. 

"Don't forget to come home early, Keigo."

Atobe turned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

Fuji sighed, and pushed down the sheet to smile seductively at Atobe. "I knew you would forget. I called your secretary yesterday; you are leaving at noon, and not a damned minute later. I don't want to get stuck in traffic going up to the hot springs."

"Lover, we're going there tomorrow," Atobe reminded teasingly.

"Yuuta and Yumiko are going up there tomorrow," Fuji reminded, equally teasingly. "If you want any time there alone with me, we have to get there tonight. And I want _all night_ with you, _lover_."

A cold chill delightfully spread down Atobe's spine. "And remind me why I agreed to let your siblings join us on our vacation?"

"Because," Fuji yawned, pulling the sheet back up. "I said so. Now, scoot to work, so you can get home to me."

Atobe rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, but I certainly hope you plan on making this worth my while."

Fuji's laughter was all the answer he needed.

* * *

  


There was no one at the reception desk at the godforsaken early hour of ten in the morning. There was a small group of students in one of the side rooms, setting up for a show. They moved sluggishly, but with purpose, speaking quietly to each other in a hum under the pounding rhythm of the dance music they were playing.

Fuji didn't stop to chat with them. He smiled as he strode to the backroom, stopping as he got to the door to pull out his keys. He had plenty of time, really, but he didn't want to get trapped in the studio for any length of time. He dropped his keys on his desk, and went back into the dark room. Yesterday's prints were all ready to go now, completely dry. He put together three folders of all the prints, one for the agent, one for the magazine, and one for himself. He took the time to clean up the chemicals, and make sure that all his equipment was cleaned and turned off.

He heard the voices in his office, but he didn't rush; after all, he'd be locking up his dark room for a long weekend, and he wanted everything in order.

He picked up the three envelopes, and stepped out of his dark room, locking it behind him. He smiled genially at Oishi and Eiji. Eiji was on his desk, trying to tease Oishi into doing something 'fun', and Oishi was turning a few interesting colors.

"Sa, if you two want to, go right ahead. Let me just get my camera, ok?"

Eiji started to giggle so hard, he nearly fell off the desk, and Oishi jumped back, protesting in shocked, stuttering syllables. "Fu-fu-fu-ji!"

Fuji chuckled lightly. He sat down at his desk, and opened his drawer, depositing the two envelopes for the agent and the magazine there, and then opening another drawer for his envelope, until he had time to sort it. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, if I may ask?"

"We need a favor," Eiji answered immediately.

"Eiji!" Oishi sighed, and pulled up a chair. "I'm sorry to disturb you, Fuji. We know you are leaving for a short vacation, but... well, we do have a favor to ask."

"Oishi is _finally_ taking a sabbatical!" Eiji announced proudly, swinging his legs back and forth. "So we wanna go someplace fabulous for lots of beach sex!"

Oishi cleared his throat, and talked through his blush. "Ah, yes, well... I'm being given some time so I can write a book about the recent political events, but even still, I haven't been at the college long enough to earn much, and so with our combined budget, we'll be a bit limited..."

"Unless a good friend with a rich ass boyfriend with a villa on the sea in Greece might be willing to help out, nudge nudge, wink wink," Eiji snickered softly. 

Fuji smiled at Eiji. His closest friend from school had changed so little over the years... It was refreshing, given how much everything else had changed. "Well, you'll have to talk to the rich ass boyfriend yourself. I can't promise you anything of Keigo's. If you want to ask him in person, it will have to wait until next week. I don't know how desperate your plans are. Otherwise, I can call him for you now."

"That wouldn't be terribly rude?" Oishi was clearly nervous, but relieved at the suggestion.

Fuji understood. Even with lodgings secured, there was still a great deal to be done for a long trip. He picked up the phone, and pressed the button for Atobe's private line. He tapped his fingers on the desk, and smiled as Eiji and Oishi quietly joked together. It only took a minute before Atobe answered.

"If you are calling to check up on me, lover, keep in mind that I'll get things done faster if you leave me alone."

"I'll leave you completely alone, if that's what you want. _Lover_. But I have a friend here in need of a favor."

"Oh?" Atobe sounded completely bored. "How good a friend?"

"Play nicely, Keigo, and I'll play _nicely_ with you, later." He held the phone out for Oishi to take it.

Oishi's cheeks seemed to be permanently red at this point. He took the phone, and cleared his throat. "Atobe-san, how are you? ...Ah, sorry to bother you, I just wanted to ask you something quickly."

Eiji and Fuji shared an amused glance. Poor Oishi, he had probably never asked a quick question in his life, especially when he intended to do so.

"It's just that, well, Eiji and I are planning an extended vacation, and I hope this isn't presumptuous of me, and if it is, please just tell me, but..."

Eiji took the phone from Oishi. "Can we crash at your place in Greece for a coupla months? Please, please, I'll make Fuji give you oral!"

Fuji swatted Eiji and rolled his eyes. He hadn't changed a bit...

"Cool, cool, thanks, you're the best! Ok, here's Fuji again... have a great time at the hot springs." Eiji waved goodbye to the phone, and handed it to Fuji. Oishi stood up, shaking his head, amused, and grabbed Eiji by the collar, mouthing 'Have a good weekend' as he pulled Eiji away.

"Your friends are annoying." Atobe was clearly working on the computer while talking to him. That wouldn't do.

"Mm, so you don't want me to fulfill Eiji's part of the bargain?"

The fingers on the keyboard on the other side of the phone stopped. "What, you need _Eiji_ to tell you to do that?"

"I prefer it when you are the one on your knees. Put that big mouth of yours to good use."

Atobe chuckled, a dead sexy sound. "Well, I don't really like being on my knees, if it's all the same to you. How about on a bed, together?"

Fuji sighed, feigning discontent, and he gathered up the paperwork he needed to do before going. "Mm, no, I think I deserve to have you on your knees. _Lover_. It's very satisfying."

"Well, well, how can we resolve this difference of opinion, then, _precious?_ "

Fuji smiled, only being open about it because he was alone. "You'll have to be awfully good for me to consider doing it your way."

"I've already agreed to let your syrupy friends into my favorite house. What more do you want?"

"Be home not a second later than noon, and we can talk on the way there, _baby_."

"I thought I was leaving at noon, _honey_."

"I'm upping the ante. You don't mind, do you, _sweetie_? See you then."

Fuji put the phone down, and stood up. He grabbed his biggest camera bag, and started to load it up with all of his cameras, film, and extra flash cards. 

This was bound to be an interesting weekend.

* * *

  


"I really don't think we should be doing this, Mr. Inui-san." 

Inui smirked at his assistant's nervous twittering. It was useless to try to explain the mechanics of honorifics to her; she would insist on using both English and Japanese customs. She was just like that. She was standing at the end of the nurses' station, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be passing by. Inui's fingers flew over the keyboard. "Don't be so meek, Alice. In this business, you have to be willing to do anything for your players."

"But, he's not one of your player, Mr. Inui-san," Alice protested.

"One's service to one's players can sometimes take you above and beyond," Inui explained patiently, finally finding the correct menu. "One must think of the players _every_ need, Alice."

"I don't understand at all, Mr. Inui-san," Alice sighed, looking up and down the hallway.

Inui ignored her as he read over the report. The doctor's notes hadn't been included in the hospital computer files, but there was enough information here for him to draw his own conclusions. He took some quick notes, and downloaded the file to his pda. 

"Mr. Inui-san!" Alice hissed at him, warning.

Inui looked up, and saw a rather fierce looking nurse glaring at him. "Can I help you?"

Inui stood up, straightening his borrowed white lab coat. "Ah, I'm sorry... I'm a visiting physician from Tokyo General, and I was looking up information on my patient, but I think I misunderstood a few of the prompts. I apologize for the inconvenience."

The nurse looked him over, from top to bottom, and then snorted. "Next time, ask first. I'll have to reboot now."

Inui knew damned well that the woman was just bitching, but he smiled politely regardless, stepping away. He grabbed Alice by the elbow, and bowed to the nurse. "I apologize again. Thank you for your assistance."

He walked with a fast clip to the elevator, practically dragging Alice alongside of him. He had no desire to get caught; there was too much to do. As soon as they were in the elevator, he interrupted whatever Alice was saying. "I'll need to go to Tokyo right away. After talking to Hannah-chan, and now this... I should have some time. But I'll need to talk to Fuji right away."

"Fuji?" Alice looked deeply confused. "He played about five years ago, correct? The first Japanese player to be ranked #1 in the world? But... he's retired, isn't he?

Inui smirked, his glasses wickedly reflecting the light. "The job of a manager is never done, Alice, and you must see to _all_ of your player's needs. It will be enough to call Fuji when I land in Tokyo. Please make the arrangements, Alice. I need to be there as soon as possible."

"Yes, sir!" Alice responded enthusiastically, even if she was still confused.

Inui had great hopes for this girl, but really, it was impossible for him to find an assistant who could keep up.

* * *

  


Atobe didn't have to bother announcing himself when he got home at 12:15. Fuji was sitting in the middle of their living room, tidying up their bags. He didn't look up from what he was doing at all. "You're late. Get changed, we have to leave."

Atobe shook his head, detouring to go past Fuji. He put his hand on Fuji's head, and tipped his head back so he could kiss him. "Good to see you, too, Syuusuke. Give me a minute, all right."

Fuji looked up at him with wicked eyes. "I've already given you fifteen. Let's go, let's go."

Atobe chuckled as he loosened his tie. "You're anxious, hm? Must really want to get me alone up there."

"I can have you alone whenever I like," Fuji dismissed. "I want to get to the hot springs."

He could never let his guard down. Atobe smirked and started up the stairs to the bedroom. He turned to look at Fuji more carefully. He was wearing soft, faded blue jeans that looked a bit frayed at the edges, and a pale blue silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up. A silk shirt that looked a few sizes too big for Fuji. "Is that... _my_ shirt you're wearing?"

"Mm," Fuji moved some shoes from one bag to another to make them both even. "It looks better on me."

Atobe stared at his lover. "It... _**what**_ did you just say?" He was only half joking.

Fuji looked over his shoulder, and smirked. "Don't you think it looks good on me?"

Atobe sighed and smiled, resigned. "Of course it does, _cutie_ , but don't get too attached, now."

"Not a worry, _sweetheart_. I would never get too attached to anything from you." Fuji smiled cheerfully at Atobe.

Atobe went upstairs grinning. This was going to be a _fun_ weekend.

* * *

  


Fuji started packing up the car as soon as he was ready. He picked the black Maserati Spyder, mostly because he knew how much Atobe hated to drive it, and also because he loved it more than any other car in Atobe's garage. 

Atobe locked up when he saw the living room empty, and went down to the garage. He grimaced slightly when he saw the car that Fuji was loading up, but he didn't say anything. He went over to the driver's side, but Fuji slipped in between him and the car. "Let me drive?"

"Syuusuke," Atobe smiled, benevolently. "I love you, and I think the world of you, but you are not putting your fingers on this car."

"Are you sure?" Fuji twisted his fingers in Atobe's hair, and pulled him down for a rough kiss. "I've never had a life-altering accident, you know."

Atobe smirked. "My car, babe, the only way you are getting in the driver's seat is if you are riding me."

Fuji smirked, and leaned forward on his toes, parting his lip, wetting them with his tongue slowly. Just when he was a half a hair away from Atobe's mouth, he slipped away, and walked to the other side of the car. "Like that will ever happen... Let's go."

Atobe shook his head, and smiled. He got into the car, and flicked the switch the open the top. He slipped on his sunglasses, and smiled at Fuji. "Ready to go?"

Fuji buckled up, and winked at Atobe. He put on his own sunglasses, and slouched in his seat.

Getting out of the city limits took nearly an hour alone. Fuji played with the mp3 player, picking music, but they really couldn't talk, because there was too much street noise. When they got out onto the open road, heading into the mountains, Fuji put the mp3 player down, leaving on some nice techno music, and he pulled out his camera.

Atobe laughed, letting his pearly whites flash. "You've already started taking pictures?"

"Don't pretend you don't love it, Keigo. It doesn't suit you." Fuji carelessly snapped a few shots, not being careful about light or angle. These were for personal use, and he could clean them up later, if necessary. 

"My secretary wanted to know if we were celebrating our anniversary," Atobe loftily announced.

"Anniversary?" Fuji laughed. "Anniversary of what?"

"Mm, she's an old romantic. She thinks we've been together nearly five years now." Atobe smiled softly. Roads like these used to be his favorite thing in the world besides tennis. He narrowed his eyes as he navigated the curves. 

"Five years?" Fuji frowned. "I don't think so."

"We met for the first time since school the year you won Wimbledon, about five years ago, but it was in November, wasn't it?" Atobe slipped his hand over to rub Fuji's thigh.

Fuji pushed his hand away, and smirked, slouching further, and put his feet up on the dash, his toes spreading out in his flip-flops. "Careful, careful, don't want to have another car accident, do you?"

Atobe narrowed his eyes. "If you don't trust me..."

Fuji laughed brightly. "Just drive, _baby_." He smiled, and turned to take more pictures of Atobe.

"Don't you have enough pictures of me, Syuusuke?" He raised his hands as if to block the picture, but he was also posing for the camera.

"I'm quite sure you believe there can never be enough pictures of you, Keigo," Fuji smiled softly. He reached over, and put his hand on Atobe's thigh. "Don't get distracted now." He took a picture. "I love this car, Keigo. You should let me drive." He moved his hand a bit, further up, further in. "Why won't you let me drive?"

"Because..." Atobe covered Fuji's fingers with his own, interlacing them, pulling Fuji's hand away. "I like having something you want." He grinned ferally at Fuji.

"That's the basis of our relationship, isn't it, Keigo?" Fuji smiled at Atobe, and opened the bottom few buttons of his shirt. "You have something I want... I have something you want... It's fun, right?"

Atobe grinned, and revved the engine. The sooner they got there, the more fun it would be.

* * *

  


The porter left their bags just as Atobe instructed him to, and while Atobe negotiated his tip, Fuji investigated the bedroom. The bed was made of cedar, and dressed in sparkling white sheets, covered with a white comforter that was puffy and softy. Fuji fell stomach first onto the bed, spreading out. He laughed into the comforter, reveling in the opulence of it.

He felt the bed sag as Atobe got in with him, settling around him. Atobe kissed along Fuji's neck, pulling gently at the collar of his shirt to get access to more skin. Fuji sighed softly, and relaxed into Atobe's touch.

"So, Syuusuke," Atobe purred softly. "Whatever shall we do now?"

Fuji half turned from under Atobe. "I want to go to the hot springs."

Atobe furrowed his brow in mild annoyance. "Now? Shouldn't we... relax first? It was a long drive."

Fuji ran his fingers up Atobe's shirt, and then started to unbutton it. "We can relax in the water. Come on. Be my slave now, and I'll be yours later."

This was a game Atobe liked. He grabbed Fuji, pulling him close for a deep kiss. "Will you do anything I ask, then?"

"Mm, I might be a disobedient slave. I may need to be disciplined." Fuji smirked, opening his shirt and letting it fall off his shoulders. He let Atobe enjoy the view for a moment, and then he slipped off the bed, shedding his pants. "Keigo. Let's go. I've been looking forward to this."

"As you wish," Atobe sighed, following Fuji. 

Atobe owned this hot springs spa, so naturally, they were given royal treatment. They walked down to the hot springs in their robes, and then Atobe made sure they would have privacy until they were done. Atobe watched Fuji slip into the water, smirking to himself. He pulled off his towel, and followed Fuji in, wading in so that he could put his arms around Fuji. He kissed under Fuji's ear, nuzzling. "Feeling... relaxed, _pumpkin_?"

Fuji chuckled, and turned, running his hands over Atobe's skin. "It's a bit hot here for this, isn't it? I can't think that it's sanitary..." Fuji dipped his hands under the water, and slipped in closer to Atobe.

Atobe's hands slipped over Fuji's skin. "What do you mean, _cupcake_? It's all organic."

Laughter echoed off the rocks surrounding the pool. Atobe cornered Fuji against the rocks, slipping between Fuji's legs. Fuji smiled, and ran his hand over Atobe's shoulder, tracing the web of scars there. He pressed his lips to Atobe's flawed skin. "Keigo... There are some nice tennis courts here, aren't there?"

Atobe smiled, and ran his hands up and down Fuji's sides. "What are you thinking, Syuusuke? You think I will let you beat me?"

Fuji sighed, and looked away from Atobe, teasing him with his hands. "You think you would need to _let_ me win, Keigo?"

He put his hand on Fuji's face, and pulled him over for a kiss. He pressed their bodies together, holding Fuji tight enough to leave marks, tasting him as deeply as he could. Fuji's hands drifted up to grab at Atobe, eventually clinging to his hair. 

"Kei-Keigo... It really is hot here, isn't it?" Fuji was panting, his face flushed. 

Atobe smiled. He pushed back, swimming over to where the cool towels were stored. He brought one back to Fuji. "Aren't you the one who wanted to do this out here?"

"You horny bastard," Fuji grinned, rubbing the cool cloth to his forehead. "I wanted to relax in the hot spring. We have plenty of time for that, don't we?"

"Never enough time for that, my darling," Atobe purred, sliding up to Fuji again. "I want you every second of every day."

Fuji smiled, and petted Atobe lightly. "If you used that line on someone who told you it was romantic, they were lying to you."

"Lie to me, Syuusuke," Atobe spoke in a hushed, deep whisper. He pulled Fuji into his arms, and pressed his lips to Fuji's neck, under his ear. "Lie to me, and tell me you love me."

Fuji chuckled. "In a million years, Keigo, the mountains will crumble and the sun will burn out, and you will _never_ hear those words pass my lips."

"You can be such a bitch." Atobe grabbed Fuji and took a kiss roughly.

Fuji's hands grasped at Atobe. "Mm, but sometimes, you're the bitch, right, Keigo?" He winked, and pulled away from Atobe. He pulled himself out of the water gracefully, and stretched for a few minutes, not bothering to cover himself. "Want to get back to our room, then?" He pulled a towel off the piles, and lazily wrapped it around himself as he walked to the door.

Atobe was chasing him, just as he knew he would, just as he liked it. He skipped grabbing a robe, to give himself that extra few seconds head start. The further away he got, the faster he moved, not really running, but gracefully eluding Atobe. His feet made wet splotches on the polished wooden floors, and they made a soft thoink sound with each footfall.

He was looking over his shoulder to see how far behind Atobe was. He turned the corner quickly, wanting to stay ahead. The place was as quiet as a library, so he hadn't considered that it might not be private any more. 

He walked right into someone.

He fell back a bit, mostly from the shock, but strong hands had him by the elbows before he could lose his balance. He knew the feel of these hands on his skin, as he knew those eyes looking down on him with that inscrutable expression he once knew so well.

He found, somewhat to his dismay, he did not have to force himself to smile. The air in his lungs felt new, fresh, like he'd just stepped inside his home for the first time in years. "Tezuka."

Tezuka wasn't letting go, not right away. His fingers unclasped slowly, one by one. He started to speak twice before he actually got words out of his throat. "Fuji."

"What luck to run into you here," Fuji grinned, holding himself where Tezuka had been holding him just moments before. His skin felt hot and too exposed. "It's been a while."

"A long while," Tezuka sighed, closing his eyes, and Fuji's thoughts immediately set about trying to interpret his tone of voice and posture and inflection. 

"Gotcha!" Atobe stopped short, sizing up the moment. He grinned, and put his arm around Fuji's waist. "Well, well. Look here. What luck, eh, Syuusuke? Tezuka. How nice to see you again."

Fuji bit the inside of his lip, and smiled harder, watching Tezuka, watching the way his eyes narrowed, his gaze drifting from him to Atobe to Atobe's arm. Tezuka's expression hardened. "Atobe."

"And how is the tennis star these day? You look good." Atobe's fingers tightened, turning Fuji's skin white in their wake. 

Tezuka crossed his arms over his chest, and said nothing.

"Keigo." Fuji took a step toward Tezuka, pulling himself out of Atobe's grip. "We should get back to our room." He smiled at Tezuka. "See you tomorrow, hm?"

Tezuka said nothing, but watched them leave.

As soon as they got into the room, Atobe ripped Fuji's towel off, and pressed him against the wall, brutally kissing him. "My, my, what a coincidence, hm? Did you know that Tezuka would be here, then?"

"Yes, of course I did," Fuji rolled his eyes, peeling Atobe's robe away from his body. "What better place to go for a getaway with my lover than the spa that my ex is at." He jumped on Atobe, wrapping his legs around Atobe's waist.

Atobe carried them to the bed, where he dumped Fuji. He ran his hands over Fuji's flesh, and covered Fuji, biting at his ear. "Syuusuke. I don't care who you dream about." He grabbed Fuji's cock, stroking it roughly. "But keep in mind... when I'm inside of you, I want you to think about no one but me."

Fuji cried out, and let Atobe erase from his mind every possible thought.


	3. Part Two

He didn't want to wake up right away. He couldn't remember what dreams he was being pulled from, but that wasn't the point. The fingers combing his hair felt good, as did the soft kisses to his cheek. He would just keep his eyes closed, and enjoy this.

"Syuusuke," Atobe whispered, smiling. "Open your eyes." His hand ran down Fuji's back, his fingertips circling lazily around the small of his back.

Fuji shook his head once, the very corners of his lips turning up in a grin.

"I know you are awake now. No point in playing games." Atobe kissed Syuusuke's lips, enticing him to kiss back.

Of course, Fuji knew there was always a point to any game, and this was exactly the purpose of this game. He kept his eyes closed.

Atobe sighed dramatically. "So unfair... you get to sleep in every morning. Now just open your eyes."

Fuji lifted his chin as he nuzzled the pillow. He let his hand slip across the sheet to Atobe's chest, sliding up slowly.

Chuckling deeply, Atobe took Fuji's hand, and kissed each finger slowly. "Now, now, _scrumptious_ , it's your brother and sister and it was your idea to invite them along, so it should be you to greet them now that they are here."

Fuji's eyes snapped open. "Yuuta and Yumiko-neesan are here?"

Atobe smiled, genuinely amused. "Didn't you hear the phone ring?"

Fuji waved his hand dismissively in Atobe's face. "It's not my job to answer phones. How did they get here so early?"

"It's nearly noon," Atobe sighed. "And they took the train."

Sighing, Fuji cuddled up under the sheet. "I guess that means we should get up, hm?"

Atobe snuggled closer to Fuji. "I suppose we should."

Fuji ran his fingers through Atobe's fine, perfect hair, purposefully tangling his fingers in the strands. "Though, they probably aren't expecting us _right_ away, are they? After all, they should be able to get into their rooms and get settled on their own."

Kissing Fuji's face slowly and thoroughly, Atobe smiled. "Just enough time for a nice shower, I'd say... if we conserved water and shared."

"It's good to be environmentally conscious," Fuji agreed.

He didn't think about whom else he might be meeting today until after the shower, when he was getting dressed.

* * *

  


Yuuta was talking to Yumiko rather animatedly, but to Fuji's disappointment, he quieted down as soon as he saw his brother and Atobe enter the garden. Yumiko turned and smiled widely at her brother. She winked at Atobe. "Glad we didn't keep you from what you were up at, eh?"

Atobe smirked, and strolled over to Yumiko, putting his hands on her shoulders to kiss her cheeks. "Naturally, my dear. And how are you? You look radiant, as always."

Yumiko laughed lightly. "And you are a charming devil, as always."

Fuji sat down next to his brother, and smiled brightly. He never had enough time with Yuuta. "So, did you have a good trip up?"

Yuuta glared absently at Fuji. "Neesan called me at four this morning to wake me up." There was a definite insinuation that it was all Fuji's fault.

"Well, I wanted to get out of the house before the baby woke up." Yumiko sighed and looked to Atobe as if he'd understand completely. 

Atobe smirked. "A fine woman like you deserves better household help. That man you call husband should do better by you." He picked up Yumiko's hand and kissed it lightly.

Fuji rolled his eyes. "Stop sucking up to her, she's not going to run off with you."

"A pity," Atobe sighed. "A good woman like you could do even a scoundrel like me good."

Yumiko patted Atobe lightly on the thigh. "I'd suggest waiting for Syuusuke to save you, but I think you are too busy corrupting him."

"Me? Corrupt him?" Atobe smiled. "I don't think that's possible."

"Are you suggesting I'm evil?" Fuji smiled flirtatiously at Atobe.

Yuuta sighed noisily. "You two should go back to your room to have sex. We don't need you around, anyway."

"Mm, Yuuta, don't be mean," Fuji scooted his chair closer to his brother. "I can have sex with Keigo any time I want. I wanted to spend time with you this weekend."

"Your confidence is sexy, _honey_ ," Atobe murmured. "What do we want to do now?"

"As long as I can sit and do nothing, I'm fine with anything." Yumiko grinned and lounged in her chair.

"They have a very relaxing salt scrub bath here, good for skin, not that either of us need _that_. And their masseuses here are specially trained." Atobe leaned back, crossing his legs leisurely.

Yuuta snorted softly. "That's great. You three can be pampered if you like. I'm going to hike the trails here."

"I'll go with you," Fuji offered immediately. "I can take some landscape photographs."

Atobe grimaced slightly. "So eager to get away from me, Syuusuke? Not trying to run away from me, are you?" His gaze was a bit too penetrating to be lighthearted.

Fuji laughed brightly. "Insecure, Keigo?" He took Yuuta's hand, and stood up. "Let's go, Yuuta. The light is so good right now. Oh, we have to stop by my room for my camera..."

"Hey! Aniki!" Yuuta scowled. "Give me a minute... Hey!"

Yumiko laughed. "Let's meet at five for a drink before dinner, all right?"

Fuji waved as he dragged Yuuta off.

Atobe shook his head. "And he wonders why they have trouble getting along."

"They get along very well, actually," Yumiko corrected softly. "They just have their own way about it. Just like you and him."

"Mm, our own way, eh?" Atobe mused, still watching them go, even though they were out of sight. "I suppose we do. But I guess that's true of everyone, mm?"

Yumiko's expression slowly lost its playfulness. "What are you thinking about, you spoiled boy?"

Atobe smiled genially at her. "It doesn't really matter, I suppose. I would just prefer to have him in my sight today."

"Afraid he'll run off with the towel boy?" She was only half-teasing.

"It's not towel boys that worry me," Atobe sighed seriously.

Yumiko laughed, and stood up, kissing his cheek impulsively. "It's good to know you worry about him, regardless. It means you truly care for him."

Atobe scowled at her, somewhat annoyed. "You delight in him torturing me, don't you?"

"Is his affection torture?" Yumiko asked archly. "I'm not sure I like that implication."

Atobe smiled, and spread his hands out. "I can't be disagreeable in the company of a beautiful woman. Please, let's put this aside, and enjoy the luxuries available, mm?"

Yumiko smiled. "I like the way your mind works."

"So you don't mind all the perverse things I do to your younger brother then, hm?" Atobe winked as he offered Yumiko his arm.

Yumiko pinched Atobe's ass as she took his arm. "As long as he's happy, who am I to complain?"

Atobe smirked as he grumbled good-naturedly. "You Fujis, always going just a bit beyond what's expected."

* * *

  


Yuuta's patience with Fuji's photography was limited under the best of circumstances, so Fuji didn't push his luck. He did manage to get a few good shots, though, before Yuuta started glaring at him. It was early afternoon; the sun was high, pouring down light from between the canopy of green lace. The air was less dense up here, the sun wasn't oppressive, and the trail was sloped comfortably.

It was a beautiful day.

They got to a clearing near the summit. There was a view of a mighty waterfall off to the right, and Yuuta was patient as Fuji took pictures, because Fuji wisely did not ask Yuuta to pose in the picture. Yuuta even took some interest in the different cameras and films Fuji used, and asked a few questions without becoming defensive.

It was a good day.

They sat down to just enjoy the view. The grass was short here, because it was trod upon so often. Fuji brushed his fingers over the ground. He was never a great lover of nature, but these occasional forays into the great outdoors left him feeling rejuvenated. 

They were quiet together, which was rare, so even if Fuji could think of anything to say, he didn't know that he would want to; for so long, it would have been impossible for them to be so at peace with each other's company.

"Are you happy with Atobe-san?"

Fuji blinked. The question seemed to have come out of nowhere. "Happy?" He considered. "I suppose I am. I have no complaints. Are you happy, Yuuta? What about that girl you are seeing... Ah, what's her name again... Sakuna? Sakura? Saki?"

Yuuta snuffed, annoyed. "Kiraya. Aniki, you knew that." He shifted, irritated, searching the grass for something he knew wasn't there. "She's fine. She wants me to move in with her, but... yanno, her apartment is pretty... pristine. I... heard from Mizuki-san the other day. He's at the University of Southern California, now. He's the assistant coach for the women's tennis team. He... invited me to visit."

Fuji nodded slowly. He thought out at least seven complete reactions before he even considered saying anything. "Do you want to visit him?"

Shrugging, Yuuta stared off into the distance, his eyes facing the sun. "I don't know. I want to. Kiraya doesn't understand. She doesn't like Mizuki. I... suppose I understand how she feels. Sometimes, though, I feel like I don't really have any connection with her at all. And when Mizuki calls, it's... it's so easy, we can just talk, and we understand each other... and I _would_ like to see him again."

Fuji watched his brother seriously. He wondered sometimes just what had transpired between his brother and Mizuki, but he couldn't just ask, and Yuuta never offered to tell him. "If you want to go, go. Don't let Kiraya stop you."

"Sometimes, though, I wonder if... maybe... we cling to things that are past, and they... get in the way of good things that are possible now. You know what I mean, Aniki?" There was something in the way Yuuta said it, something in the way he was looking away, that made Fuji look at what he was saying more in depth.

"Mm, Yuuta, you aren't trying to tell me something, are you?" Fuji grinned cheerfully.

Yuuta was quiet for a moment, brushing the grass with his fingers like they had as children. "We saw him this morning, when we were checking in. Did you know he was going to be here?"

The absurdity of the question, doubled upon its second asking, made Fuji laugh, even though he didn't really find it funny at all. "Of course not, Yuuta. I didn't even know he was in Japan. He doesn't keep me apprised of his schedule these days." There was more than a slight hint of bitterness in his tone, and it shook him. He hadn't known that Tezuka still had that much power over him. Of course, that was just like Tezuka.

Yuuta watched Fuji carefully, until Fuji turned to smile at him brightly. "Aniki. I... You know... Just..." Yuuta sighed.

Fuji poked Yuuta in the shoulder. "Say, Yuuta, want to play some tennis?"

"A-Aniki?" Yuuta stared at Fuji.

Fuji smiled. "It's been a long time since we played tennis, hasn't it?"

"I... didn't bring a racquet." Yuuta was hedging, but he wasn't saying no.

Fuji grinned, standing up. "They have some at the clubhouse. Let's go."

They walked down to the courts, taunting each other playfully in an old rhythm that was so ingrained into them, they could never forget. There were six courts total, each one separated, and surrounded by tasteful landscaping so that one might almost think that the courts were part of nature. It was quiet here, as there weren't many people who came up to use the perfectly maintained courts. 

Only one court was being used. 

Fuji could have just walked by, ignored him. Yuuta tugged on his shirt to do just that. But it wasn't in Fuji's nature to walk past an opportunity.

He strolled up to the chain link fence, and wound his fingers around the links of the fence, watching Tezuka serve with a hunter's keen interest. He saw, from the corner of his eye, Tezuka's American publicist in the corner, but he pretended he didn't.

Tezuka saw Fuji right away, but he didn't stop serving. He watched Fuji from over his shoulder, and then tossed the ball gently in the air, a perfect arc nicely sliced by a strong swing.

Fuji's grin didn't waver, but the slice did surprise him.

Yuuta came to stand by Fuji's side, trying to indicate that it they should move on. Fuji nodded at Yuuta absently, but he made no move to leave.

"Do I need permission to take your picture these days, Tezuka-kun?" Fuji called out, just before Tezuka started his next serve. "I hate dealing with the entourage, you know? Such a hassle."

Tezuka turned to look at Fuji. His publicist, a woman who seemed to live to annoy Fuji, rushed forward, blathering about something or another. Fuji wasn't paying attention to her. There was fire in Tezuka's eyes. It was glorious. "I would have thought you would have been busy with your... own entourage."

"Eh?" Fuji looked at Yuuta in honest confusion. "Yuuta? Are you my entourage now?"

"Hmph!" Yuuta crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. "You wish, Aniki."

"Yuuta," Tezuka nodded solemnly. Yuuta acknowledged him with a soft snort. 

"So?" Fuji clutched the fence tighter. "Can I?"

"Would you want to?" Tezuka's voice was half wondering, half bitter. He turned away from Fuji. "I thought you had found more interesting subjects."

Fuji would have liked to have been able to say something to Tezuka that would have cut him, but he couldn't think of anything honest to say that would hurt. "Don't you want me to take your picture anymore, Tezuka?"

Tezuka paused, just watching Fuji. "Do as you like. You always do."

"Tch." Fuji sighed, pulling out his camera. "That's hardly true."

Tezuka scowled, and hit the net on his next serve.

"Mm, Tezuka, give me something worth photographing, hm?" Fuji smiled casually.

Tezuka glared at Fuji. "Do you want something from me?"

"Are you offering?" Fuji returned quickly. "I was under the impression you didn't want anything to do with me."

Tezuka dropped his racquet to his side, only barely maintaining his grip on it. He turned to face Fuji. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Fuji tilted his head to the side, affecting confusion. "Isn't that what it means when a person cuts off all communication with someone?"

Tezuka narrowed his eyes. "Didn't seem to bother you much." He turned his back to Fuji.

Yuuta glared, and grabbed Fuji's arm. "Let's go, Aniki. I don't feel much like playing anymore."

"Mm, Tezuka, you've chased off my opponent. How mean. You'll have to play me now." Fuji smirked.

"Aniki!" Yuuta sighed, frustrated. "You don't have time! We're meeting Neesan and _Atobe_ at five, remember?"

Fuji shrugged. "Time enough for a quick game, right?" Fuji walked around Yuuta to the gate, and stepped inside the court. "You'll go easy on me, won't you? After all, it's been a while since I've played at your level."

"No!" The annoying publicist stepped in between Tezuka and Fuji. "Tezuka-san is training now. He doesn't need _distractions_." She turned her back to Fuji, facing Tezuka. "This isn't a good idea."

Tezuka wasn't looking at her. "Training's over for today. You can take the rest of the day off, Sam." He walked over to his tennis bag, and pulled out a spare racquet, holding it out for Fuji without looking up. 

"Tezuka-san!" Sam protested vainly. Fuji grinned, and brushed past Sam intentionally to get the racquet. 

"Thanks." Fuji felt the grip of it, just getting a feel for the racquet. "Didn't even bother to bring one this time."

"Do you still play?" Tezuka's voice was cold and he purposefully wasn't looking at Fuji as he spoke. He got out a new can of balls, and popped it open, stuffing two in his pocket. "Mind if I serve?"

Fuji shrugged. A long time ago, they never flipped for serve, or discussed it. They played each other nearly every day, when they were training, and at least once a week during the season. They just traded off. Fuji had no way of knowing whose serve it was; that was just one inconsequential detail in a whole litany of details that were far more vivid in his memory. Standing now on the court, facing Tezuka, bouncing from foot to foot in preparation of the serve... 

He grinned. 

Tezuka's serve was good, but Fuji had seen better. He didn't waste time humoring Tezuka. Clearly, this was an insult, and Fuji treated it as such, sending the ball back to Tezuka with alarming speed and accuracy. Tezuka watched the ball go past, knowing before it had a chance to clear the net that he wouldn't be able to reach it. He pulled out a second ball, and prepared to serve again, this time putting more strength into it.

The courts were red, framed in green, their world divided by seven white lines. Atobe liked clay courts, but this wasn't clay, just red. Fuji had courted Tezuka once, on green courts outside of Seigaku. He had used tennis as a tease to intrigue and allure, and caught Tezuka's interest. The best game of his life had been played on grass, opposite the same man, but with different eyes.

That wasn't all that was different.

Sam got tired of pleading with Tezuka to stop, and had left. Fuji knew why she was so insistent. It was as plain as day to him, each stroke of Tezuka's arm acting like a signal. He didn't understand it, though, and that was frustrating.

Tezuka was getting annoyed, too, and that was making the game far more interesting than it had any right to be, which only served to further annoy Fuji. This just wasn't right.

Fuji bounced the ball several times, preparing to serve. He hadn't tried his underhand serve in a long time, and he needed to remember the exact spin he needed. "Say, Tezuka, didn't you have surgery on your shoulder just last year?" He caught the ball, watching Tezuka sharply. "What's wrong? Didn't the surgery work?"

Tezuka's reaction was nonexistent, at least to anyone who didn't know Tezuka well. But at least some things hadn't changed. He was able to return Fuji's serve, but it was weak, and ended up going out. Fuji picked up a ball from the edges of the court, and got ready to serve again.

Just as he dropped the ball to hit it, Tezuka spoke. "I'm surprised you would know about my surgery."

The serve didn't have the necessary slice to it. Fuji narrowed his eyes, and prepared to return. "I'm not the one who walked out, Tezuka. Don't play the part of the martyr with me."

Tezuka just grunted, and returned the ball as hard as he could.

Yuuta watched them, until it was ten to five. He tried to persuade Fuji to leave, but Fuji just kept playing. It was infuriating, knowing that Tezuka was causing himself pain, but he still played, so Fuji still played.

Tezuka took a drink of water as Yuuta stormed off. He watched Yuuta go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Aren't you afraid of incurring your lover's wrath?"

Fuji laughed, genuinely amused. "His _wrath_? Was that a joke? I think you're just afraid of losing to me again." Fuji winked at Tezuka, and pocketed a few balls.

Tezuka watched Fuji go to the baseline, and he sighed. "Why _him_? Of all the people... why _him_?"

Fuji laughed again, but this time, there was more of an edge to his voice. "Naturally, Tezuka, I thought to myself, who can I fuck that will really hurt Tezuka? Because I would use my body like that against you."

Tezuka stared at Fuji. "You don't need to be so crude about it."

Fuji bounced the ball testily. "It bothers you, doesn't it? The idea of him touching me... putting his mouth on me... Coming inside of me. What right do you have, anyway?" He scowled at the ball in his hand. "Didn't you make the choice to leave? I was the one left behind, if I remember correctly." He tossed the ball in the air. His serve was fast, but inaccurate, wavering with his anger. He swallowed it all down, pushing past the griping fingers of memory, and concentrated on the moment at hand.

Tezuka returned, weakly, and they started to volley back and forth. In this moment, right now, they were as intent upon each other as if they were in bed together. The fire in Tezuka's eyes excited and elevated Fuji, but he measured his talent carefully, keeping the score close. 

There was something wrong with Tezuka's arm.

Fuji waited for Tezuka's serve, getting impatient. He tightened his grip on Tezuka's racquet, narrowing his eyes. He could just ask. He could tell Tezuka it was pointless to keep playing when it was obvious that Tezuka wasn't up to snuff. But Tezuka wouldn't be swayed.

"Did you ever think about me? Even once, after you left?" Fuji smirked as the ball bounced in front of Tezuka, still in position to serve. "Did you ever wonder what I was up to? Were you even happy to see me last night?"

Tezuka picked up the ball, sighing. "I was happy, last night. Until Atobe showed up. I didn't want to believe it, even though he was right in front of me."

"Ah, I see," Fuji sighed. "You don't really care about me at all, you just don't want to lose to Atobe."

"Is that what you think?" Tezuka replied testily. Fuji bit his lip to keep from smiling. Naturally, he couldn't return this serve. Tezuka's passion drove it with blazing speed. Fuji casually went to the other side of the court. "Is that what you think of my feelings?"

"It's better than nothing, I suppose." Fuji shrugged, and got ready to return the ball.

"You don't understand anything," Tezuka spat out, serving with equal fury, though this time, Fuji was ready for it. 

They went game for game, until the sun set, and the lights over the courts flickered on. Sweat poured down their backs, their hair sticking to the back of their necks. Fuji flirted with Tezuka with smashes and volleys, teasingly drawing out Tezuka until he knew he must be ready to break, but Tezuka was always ready with more.

Tezuka served, and Fuji just stood up straight, tipping his head back, closing his eyes. The stars above were obscured by the lights, washed out by the artificial orange lights, but present, like tiny pin pricks in the fabric of the sky. The moon was new, hidden. Fuji smiled.

He had so missed this.

"Are you done, then?" Tezuka wasn't happy, but then, Tezuka always hated it when the rules changed mid-game. Fuji laughed silently, wiping his brow to partially cover it. 

"Why do you try so hard? This isn't a real game. This isn't anything. Why can't you just admit it? Your arm is hurting. Your shoulder, your elbow... Wimbledon is coming up, Tezuka. Shouldn't you be tending to yourself?" He didn't expect answers, so he didn't wait for them. This was futile. He strolled over to where Tezuka's bag was, put back Tezuka's racquet, and then drank Tezuka's water. 

Tezuka followed him slowly, standing over Fuji, watching him. "Why did you quit?"

Fuji leaned back on the bench, smiling up at Tezuka. "You can't tell me that you still haven't figured that out."

Tezuka looked away, his profile as handsome as ever. Fuji half wished to rip his eyes out, rather than fall under this spell again. "I thought about you every day, every minute of every day. I tried to figure it out a million different ways, what I had done wrong, how I had failed you. I tried to understand it... I used to dream that someday... I would... come home and... I would go to see you. You would be living in a house outside of Tokyo, a traditional house. You would be wearing traditional clothes when I saw you. You would pour tea for me, and I would... beg you to forgive me. You would tilt your head in the way that you do, and tell me come back tomorrow. And I would, and I would ask you again, and again, you would tell me come back tomorrow, until... until eventually, you would tell me that you can't forgive me because you've forgotten what I've done wrong, and... we would have started over again."

"That's ridiculous," Fuji scoffed. "You know how much I hate traditional clothes."

Tezuka smiled slightly, bending his head down as he took the water from Fuji. "But you look so good in them."

"Mm," Fuji grinned, looking away. Images of Summer Festivals of the past, cornering Tezuka in some shadowy out-of-the-way niche, wafted like the faraway scent of sakura blossoms in the wind. "You're here to heal, aren't you? We should go to the springs."

"What?" Tezuka blinked. "You mean... together?"

Fuji laughed brightly. "Of course I mean together. It's what people do here, Tezuka."

"Aren't you going to be late for dinner?" Tezuka narrowed his eyes.

Fuji shrugged. "I'm already late, and it's not like I can go all sweaty like this. We both need to clean off. Don't be such a prude." He picked up Tezuka's bag and started off to leave the court. He grinned at Tezuka over his shoulder.

Tezuka watched him for a moment, and then followed.

* * *

  


There were some things that just couldn't be forgotten. Fuji's hands moved over Tezuka's skin, and a million tangible memories swelled over him like the steam pouring off the water. A definite sense of rightness pushed aside things that otherwise he would be inclined to think of, and he concentrated on Tezuka's muscles, rolling his arm around in its socket, massaging the muscles loose.

He drifted closer to Tezuka, letting his other hand slide over Tezuka's chest. Tezuka's eyes were closed, his lips parted, and Fuji imagined tasting those lips again, the sensation of it so clear in his mind it was like he had leaned over and taken a bite. He pressed his chest to Tezuka's back, and brushed his lips over Tezuka's neck, pushing aside wet hair with his nose. "Doesn't seem so long ago now, does it?"

Tezuka shook in his arms, and Fuji felt heat swell his body. "Syuusuke..."

Fuji's arms tightened around Tezuka, pulling himself flush to Tezuka. Their bodies slide over each other in the water, the loose friction teasingly delightful. "Are we on such intimate terms again, Kunimitsu?"

"What about..." Tezuka was breathing deeply. "Atobe?"

Fuji blinked. "You shouldn't be thinking about Keigo now, Kunimitsu. He's not the one who is here with you." Fuji opened his mouth and pressed his lips to Tezuka's ear, sticking his tongue out to tease Tezuka.

"But..." Tezuka's confusion was melting into his arousal. "This isn't right..."

"This isn't right?" Fuji chuckled, lazily moving around Tezuka to face him. "What's not right about this?" His hands moved under the water, his palms flat against Tezuka's soaked flesh. "When has this ever been 'not right'?" Fuji drifted closer, slipping his arms around Tezuka's neck, his eyes half-closing, his lips parted and ready.

Tezuka put his hands on Fuji's hips, keeping them just far apart enough. "But. He's your lover. Are you... breaking up with him?"

"What?" Fuji was genuinely confused, and annoyed. "Why are you resisting this? Don't you want me?"

Tezuka sagged against the rocky sides of the pool. "Want you? Syuusuke... I feel like I'm able to breathe again, finally."

Fuji smiled. "That's enough, isn't it?" He surged forward, taking Tezuka's mouth, finally, at last, his tongue slipping easily into Tezuka's mouth as his body pressed against Tezuka's. 

Tezuka pushed him back. "Enough? Syuusuke... I need all of you. I don't want you to ever go back to him."

Fuji scowled, and pushed himself further away. "It's not really yours to ask for, is it? How do I know you won't leave me again, mm? This is what I'm offering you, Tezuka. Isn't it good enough for you?"

Tezuka turned his face away, dropping his forehead to his clenched fist. "I don't understand. I don't understand why you quit. I don't understand what went wrong. I don't understand why you would be with him. I don't understand why this isn't working."

The sound of water echoed all around them. It suddenly felt later than it was, and uncomfortably hot. Fuji pushed his arms back and forth through the water. "Why do you think I quit, Tezuka?"

Flinching slightly from the use of his family name again, Tezuka sighed. "I don't know. You were at the top of your game. You were number one in the world. I can't... I can't imagine why you would have wanted to quit. I suppose... I can only guess that you must have gotten tired of me."

Fuji's laughter drowned out the water. He tipped his head back to laugh louder, his hair getting trapped in the steam and the water. He slipped over to the egress, and climbed out of the water. "Did it ever **once** occur to you, Tezuka, that it wasn't _you_ that I was tired of, but it was _tennis?_ " He stood shamelessly above Tezuka. "That game with you was the best game I would ever play. Why would I continue to play, and deal with all the nonsense that comes with pro tennis, when the best would always be behind me?"

Sighing softly, Tezuka closed his eyes. "I have misunderstood things terribly."

Stretching out his neck, Fuji smiled to himself. "Come on, don't loiter. Let's get dinner."

* * *

  


The dining room was small, servicing only the guests of the resort. There were about a dozen tables, with couples ranging in ages from the old to the young, and small families. The largest table was on a small dais at the top of the room, where Atobe, Yuuta, and Yumiko were sitting.

Fuji glanced in their direction, but went directly to a small table. Tezuka followed his lead, less confident, but when he sat down, he looked only at Fuji.

Fuji ordered their sake and food, and held up both ends of the conversation. It wasn't unusual when it was the two of them. Tezuka loved to hear Fuji speak, loved the sound of Fuji's voice, loved his turns of expression, even. He had told Fuji that many years ago, while they were still in school, in fact. Tezuka had blushed, and dipped his head down as he said it. Fuji couldn't remember if it had been raining that day, or if they were indoors or out. He liked to remember it as they were outside, walking home together, in the rain, but they might have even been in bed together. Still, Fuji remembered the exact color of Tezuka's blush. It was one the most beautiful things he had ever seen, and every time after that, when they conversed like this, with Fuji talking, and Tezuka just watching him, Fuji would remember that blush, and he wouldn't feel awkward about talking alone.

Tonight was different, though.

Fuji's hands cupped his glass of sake, and he turned it around and around as he spoke about nothing at all. Tezuka's eyes were warm, and somehow, Fuji had forgotten the exact color of them. He had plenty of pictures of Tezuka, but he hadn't spent much time in the past five years looking at him, especially after he finally accepted that Tezuka wasn't coming back. 

Tezuka's eyes were just so gorgeous... Fuji lost the thread of what he was saying at least twice. It was annoying, really. He didn't like being so easily swayed, even by Tezuka.

He knew that Atobe would be annoyed. It was almost funny, like a bonus of the game. He wasn't even rewarding himself with a view of Atobe. He purposefully sat so that his back was to the head table. He expected Atobe to come see him, but, really, that just made it all the easier for him.

Atobe sat down next to him, grabbing his elbow. He grinned less than politely at Tezuka, and jerked Fuji toward him. "Syuusuke, you've been so _kind_ to keep Tezuka-kun busy all this time, but don't you think it's time you rejoined us?"

Fuji pulled his arm away from Atobe, looking rather vexed. "Keigo, you're making a scene. Go back to your table."

Snarling, Atobe grabbed Fuji's arm again, and jerked him roughly. "This isn't funny. I expect you to stand up and move _now_."

"Do you?" Fuji asked icily, holding his hand up to keep Tezuka in his seat. He smiled cruelly at Atobe. "That isn't going to happen. Let go of me."

"Is this your choice, then?" Atobe spared a dark glace for Tezuka. "To go crawling back to him the moment he appears? Your family is _up there_ , and so am I."

Fuji put his hand over Atobe's and shoved his grip away. "Go away, Keigo. You're ruining my dinner."

Atobe stood up and stomped off loudly, causing a stir amongst the resort's guests. Fuji sighed, and picked up his glass of sake, ignoring the chatter. "Such drama!"

Tezuka looked nervously from Fuji to the door that Atobe just exited through to the table at the top of the room where Yumiko and Yuuta were busily conversing together. He cleared his throat gently. "You _did_ know that when you first... began. With him."

"I did," Fuji smiled. "But that doesn't make it fun to live with."

Tezuka looked down at his plate. "You live with him."

Fuji watched Tezuka closely. "It bothers you."

"Of course it does," Tezuka scowled.

"How much?" Fuji sipped his sake, his eyes unblinkingly watching Tezuka.

"What are you asking me?" Tezuka raised his eyes to look directly at Fuji. "Do you honestly think I would only be interested in you because of some ancient competition with Atobe? I don't care about him at all. It's you that I..."

Fuji could have pressed Tezuka to finish the sentence, but it would have been futile, and he knew what Tezuka was thinking, regardless. It was written in the nervous motions of his hands. Fuji smiled, just a bit. "It's been five years, Tezuka, and this is the first time you've tried to speak to me. Can you blame me for being... distrustful?"

There was a blank pause, and there was no thrill in having silenced Tezuka. Fuji could see the old patterns in the way Tezuka poked at his food with his chopsticks. He waited patiently for what Tezuka would have to say.

"I don't blame you for distrusting me, I suppose. You were waiting for me to call you, and I was waiting for you to call me. It can't have been helped, I suppose. But... If it is selfish to want another chance, then, I will have to be selfish."

"Mm, but I _did_ call you, Tezuka. I called you dozens of times. And then you changed your number, and you changed your codes. I suppose that _charming_ publicist of yours never gave you any messages, hm?" Fuji ate his food conscientiously, making sure not to look at Tezuka as he spoke.

Tezuka didn't speak for a moment. "Ah... no... I... If I had ever gotten a message, I would have returned it. I was waiting for you to call."

"I was just waiting for you," Fuji sighed, holding his face in his hand. "But then I stopped waiting."

Tezuka's mouth was open, but his chopsticks were on his plate, and he wasn't speaking.

Fuji was suddenly surrounded by his sister. She kissed him on the cheek. "Syuusuke, you naughty boy, enjoying your dinner, I hope?"

"Sorry for abandoning you," Fuji apologized, touching his sister's arms as she clung to him.

"Don't be ridiculous," Yumiko smiled. "Just gave me a chance to monopolize your charming boyfriend. Hello, Tezuka-kun."

"Hello, Kaima-san. You look well." Tezuka nodded briefly.

"Of course I do," Yumiko sniffed. "I always do. So, Syuusuke, are you almost done here?"

"Mm, not quite," Fuji patted his sister's arms, pulling away slightly. "See you later, Neesan."

"C'mon," Yuuta tugged on Yumiko's elbow. "Let's leave them alone." Yuuta was definitely not going to look at Tezuka.

Tezuka watched Fuji's siblings leave. "They don't seem very happy with me."

"Mm?" Fuji ate, cheerfully. "Why would you say that?"

"I've hurt you," Tezuka looked down at his fingers.

Fuji didn't respond at first. He looked out the window at the dark outlines of the trees and trails. "It's nice up here, isn't it? It's good to be here."

Tezuka didn't say anything for a moment, and then he reached out, and touched just the end of his fingers to Fuji's hand, tracing the lines of Syuusuke's hand. "It is."

Fuji smiled, and finished his dinner.

* * *

  


The knocking was constant, soft, and very irritating. Yuuta had no doubt at all who would be there. He moved as slowly as he could given that he _really_ wanted to stop the damned knocking.

He opened the door roughly, almost pulling the abused thing off its hinges. "Aniki. It's late. Go to your own room. I _was_ up at four this morning, you know."

"Let me sleep here tonight?" Fuji smiled brightly.

"What did you do?" Yuuta glared at Fuji.

Fuji shrugged. "What makes you think I did anything?"

"Did you sleep with him?" 

Fuji wanted to laugh, but he would have disturbed the people, probably asleep, in the neighboring rooms. "Sleep with who? Yuuta, let me in."

"Why?" Yuuta narrowed his eyes, clutching the door as if Fuji would bust in. "Why can't you go to your own room?"

It was the role of a little brother, Fuji supposed, to ask complicated questions expecting simple answers. "I could. I don't want to. Let me in."

"Atobe is going to be mad at you," Yuuta pouted.

Fuji repressed the urge to sigh. "Then he will be mad at me. What can I do about that? Let me in, Yuuta."

"Fine," Yuuta sighed, stepping aside. "But you should be more considerate of his feelings."

"He's considerate enough of his feelings for the both of us," Fuji assured, tiredly.

"Have you been with Tezuka all this time?" Yuuta asked, closing the door behind Fuji.

Sighing, Fuji rolled his neck around. "No. We spent a long time with dinner. And then... I went for a walk." He'd spent a long time thinking under the stars, but he assumed that Yuuta could surmise that from what he said.

"Are you going back to him?" Yuuta was fussing over him. At another time, Fuji would be very pleased about this.

"No, Yuuta, I'm going to bed. Aren't you tired?" Fuji smiled at his younger brother, closing off all further conversation.

Yuuta sighed, and crawled into bed. "Fine, fine, don't talk to me. But you'd better stay on your side of the bed."

"You don't want to spoon?" Fuji asked, innocently.

He waited until Yuuta's breathing was even, and then he crawled into bed.

He was tired, tired of thinking. He closed his eyes, and forced himself to dream.


	4. Part Three

He had heard the knocking, but it wasn't his room, so he clearly didn't need to worry about it. He heard the voices, too, and though he knew that Yuuta didn't know anyone up here, he still didn't want to wake up. He knew, though, that it was only a matter of time before Yuuta came to get him.

"Aniki?" Yuuta gently prodded him, acting as if he was afraid to touch his own brother. "Aniki, there's a problem."

Fuji sighed, and pushed back the covers. He smiled genially at his brother, and went to the door. A small man, looking rather embarrassed, fidgeted back and forth from foot to foot. Fuji crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. "What's the matter, now?"

"Eh," the small man's fidgeting got worse. "I'm sorry, sir, but the reservations for this room and room 18 have been canceled. We have no other reservations, so we can certainly allow you to continue here, but we will need a credit card to confirm..."

This was not entirely unexpected, although it was extremely bothersome. "Not a problem." Fuji turned to get his wallet, and then remembered. "Ah, my bags... I was in suite 1, but I suppose that has been cleared out by now, hm? Do you know if Keigo took everything with him?"

The small man turned bright red, and examined the polish on his black, shining shoes carefully. "Ah, I believe your bags were delivered to suite 8, sir."

Fuji smiled brightly. "I will get dressed and meet you in the lobby, then. Thank you very much." He closed the door a bit more forcefully than he needed to; honestly, was this all necessary?

"Aniki." Yuuta's voice was tight and low. Fuji smiled encouragingly. "You and Atobe-san had a _suite_ , and neesan and I were stuck in _rooms_?"

It was good to laugh after the rude awakening.

* * *

  


Sweaty palms just weren't his style. He would have preferred, though, not to be seeing Tezuka under these circumstances. Still. He wasn't entirely opposed to seeing Tezuka, so there was no reason to be nervous.

He knocked politely, and wasn't at all surprised to find that Tezuka opened the door rather quickly, as if he had been waiting for Fuji. Considering the small stack of luggage tucked neatly inside the door, Fuji was sure Tezuka had been waiting. "Sorry for the inconvenience. Those are mine, I think." He would have liked to just slip in and get his bags, maybe take a quick look around before leaving, but Tezuka was standing right in the middle of the doorway, not moving an inch to let him by.

"Is everything all right?" The concern in Tezuka's voice, eyes, it was razor-sharp, and Fuji looked away, the corners of his mouth curling up with bitterness. 

"All right? Of course it is. How are you, Tezuka?" Fuji kept his voice light, unconcerned.

"I'm... Did you end things with Atobe?" Tezuka's eyes narrowed marginally.

Fuji took a moment to respond. This was so like Tezuka. Sometimes, Fuji wished that things could be so simple for him. "End things? Actually, I haven't seen Keigo since dinner. Do you mind if I get my bags?"

Tezuka stepped aside, lowering his gaze. As Fuji was slinging his camera case over his shoulder, Tezuka closed the door. Fuji straightened up, and looked Tezuka in the eye.

"Is there something else you wanted?"

Tezuka leaned against the door, looking into the distance, his gaze as sharp as it was when he was troubled. Fuji wondered if he really did know Tezuka as well as he thought he did. "Do you plan to end your relationship with Atobe?"

Fuji bit back a sigh. "Ah, this was supposed to be a relaxing weekend. I don't want to think about difficult things now."

"It would be difficult to break up with Atobe?" Tezuka asked, bitterly.

Fuji almost laughed. "Well, it's not simple. We live together. Are you offering me a place to live?"

Tezuka blushed, and it was beautiful, a moment so fast he couldn't even pull out a camera in time to catch it. "Syuusuke..."

Fuji picked up the last of his bags. "Have you fired your publicist?" The pause was tiring. Fuji shrugged, and squeezed Tezuka away from the door. "Things are complicated, aren't they?"

This was all just far too much considering he hadn't even had breakfast yet. He hoped they were serving something good for all the trouble he'd had.

* * *

  


Yumiko and Yuuta had a whole list of activities they deeply wanted to do, all of which were suspiciously far away from the tennis courts and the resort. Fuji was in the mood to be accommodating. They walked to a small lake where they could swim, Yumiko teasing Yuuta jovially the whole way.

Fuji stayed a bit behind them, mulling. Every time his thoughts strayed to Tezuka, he started to feel tight in his chest and his stomach ached, so he thought about Atobe instead.

He knew he was making Atobe angry last night, but that was just part of the game, wasn't it? To just leave like that, it was so dramatic. Not that Atobe wasn't given to dramatics, but it was irritating. Fuji would have much preferred a long, loud fight. That would have been much more fun.

They had a picnic lunch by the lake, and then went horseback riding along the mountain trails. The horse was smelly, and he made the most unpleasant noises frequently. The highlight for Fuji was when his cell phone rang, scaring the horse. It gave him an excuse to dismount mid-trail, leaving the reigns with the guide, so he could talk, walking back.

He had slipped his cell phone into his pocket expecting Atobe to call, but that wasn't who was on the other end of the phone. 

"Inui. It's been a while. You're in Japan?" It was really much better, now that he was off the horse, away from the smell, off the trail, away from people... Inui was always on his team, so it was pleasant, easy.

"Aa, yes. Sorry for disturbing your vacation, Fuji, but I have some interesting news for you."

Inui was as Inui always was. Just a half step behind him. "Mm, I wonder. Are you in Tokyo?"

"Yes. Shall we meet for breakfast tomorrow? You will be back, won't you?"

Fuji wondered if he should tell him that he had more interesting news. "Lunch might be better. And Inui... You know you can't surprise me, don't you?"

"We shall see. Sushi, then? Noon?"

"Sure," Fuji agreed. "Feeling nostalgic, Inui?"

"Old friends make for the best friends, hm?" Inui disconnected.

Fuji sighed, and put his cell phone away. He sat down on a tree stump, and put his face in his hands. There were about fifty beautiful things he could photograph, but he wasn't in the mood. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. He had wanted to spend time with his family, with Yuuta and Yumiko. He had been happy to see Tezuka, but now that time had passed and he was distanced from Tezuka a bit, old feelings were starting to surface. 

It was complicated.

He made his way down the hill, following the trail once he got back to the walking path. He found the resort easily again, purposefully walking past the tennis courts. There was Tezuka, just as Fuji would have expected, but today, he wasn't inspired to try to take any pictures. He nodded to Tezuka as he passed, because Tezuka was watching him. "Practicing hard, mm? Sure that's the best way to tend to your arm?"

Tezuka was still just watching him, but his publicist got in the way. "Please do not interrupt Tezuka-san's practice!" Her nostrils were flaring in a manner that would be called cute by someone who was fucking her.

This was a game that amused Fuji, finally. He smiled genially. "Ah, you know, I've forgotten your name."

She glared at him, obviously seething. "It's..."

"Oh, I wasn't _asking_ for it..." He grinned, and continued on to the resort. "I'm going for a soak. It's been a long day already! See you at dinner, Tezuka?" He smiled over his shoulder, and went on inside.

He was going to enjoy himself.

* * *

  


Sunset that night was beautiful. Fuji held his cup of tea close to his face, watching the light, the colors blackening the trees, painting a scene of indescribable beauty before him. 

The dinner table was tense, and that was his fault. Yuuta was practically sitting with his back to Tezuka, and Yumiko was doing her best to cut him out of the conversation entirely. Yet, still, Fuji liked this. Eating with his sister and brother, and Tezuka. He put his teacup down, stretching out, letting his fingers brush against Tezuka's.

Tezuka would look at him with troubled eyes. Fuji wanted to kiss him, quite a lot, but lethargy and some sense of his siblings' modesty kept him motionless.

He hadn't been following the conversation, so he might have been cutting someone off mid-sentence, but it was all right. They would forgive him. "Mm, Tezuka, when are you leaving for England?"

The table seemed really quiet, then, and Tezuka shifted a bit. "Ah, I plan to get there right before the tournament begins, so I'll have two more weeks in Japan."

"Are you spending all that time up here?" Fuji raised his eyebrows and put his face on his joined hands. 

Tezuka flushed slightly. "No, just this weekend. I will be going to Tokyo tomorrow."

"How coincidental," Fuji yawned. "Where are you staying in Tokyo?"

"I'm looking for an apartment," Tezuka informed them, his eyes lowered. "I should be able to get set up quickly."

"Such a pity you let go of that beautiful home you had," Yumiko drawled. "I spent so much time arranging the furniture, too! Keigo is more accommodating about that sort of thing, though. You never had a properly arranged kitchen."

"Neesan," Fuji laughed. "You just like ordering Keigo around."

Yumiko shrugged. "Like you don't."

Fuji winked at his sister. "I'm sure Tezuka wouldn't want to move back to that old place now, anyway. He'll probably be spending much of his time in America, right?"

Tezuka very stiffly raised his teacup. "I intend to retire to Tokyo, actually."

"Mm, is that because of your arm, Tezuka?" Fuji reached out and grabbed Tezuka's shoulder roughly. Tezuka bucked back, spilling tea on himself. Fuji laughed lightly. "So jumpy! It's hard to think of tennis without Tezuka, or Tezuka without tennis. What will you do now?"

Yumiko laughed, hiding behind her hand coquettishly. Tezuka blushed, scowling and looking at the ground, away from Fuji. "Mm, Syuusuke, you shouldn't be so forward. You've made the poor boy feel badly, see? Not everyone is as well rounded as you are. This is probably very difficult for Tezuka-kun."

Yuuta snorted, but Fuji just smiled. "Ah, neesan, you don't give me or Tezuka enough credit. I'm sure he's thought about what he wants to do with his retirement."

"I've had more time to plan it than you had," Tezuka replied coldly, softly.

"Don't be absurd," Yumiko bristled. "Syuusuke always knew what he would do."

"Oh?" Tezuka looked up at Fuji, who just shrugged.

"I wouldn't say I planned anything. I just want to do things I enjoy doing." Fuji smiled enigmatically.

"What do you do now?" Tezuka inquired.

"You don't know?" Yumiko sounded offended. "Syuusuke is a photographer, Tezuka. He even has his own studio. He's quite well respected."

Fuji shrugged. "It's just something that happened. It's fun. You should come by sometime."

"I'd like that," Tezuka replied seriously.

"So you'll be back in Tokyo tomorrow? Let's have lunch. Oh, wait, no, that doesn't work... dinner? Anything but sushi." Fuji sat up straight, smiling.

Tezuka looked pleased in a way that only someone who knew Tezuka could interpret as such. "Sounds good."

"Syuusuke!" Yumiko poked him, not bothering with discretion. "I'm sure you'll be busy. After all, you have a show next weekend, and Keigo..."

Fuji brushed aside his sister's concerns. "Don't be silly. It's been so long... If you don't mind, though, I think I'd like to take a nap before we leave. You were serious about taking the midnight train, weren't you, neesan?"

Yumiko smiled at him brightly. "Have to be home in time to see Ryo off."

Fuji stood up. "So, should definitely get some sleep now..."

"In my room?" Yuuta asked, looking horrified.

Tezuka stood up. "I'll walk with you to your room."

" _My_ room," Yuuta huffed.

It was quiet in the hallways, quiet except for their soft footfalls on the tatami mats. Fuji was smiling, his hands held together behind his back. He walked in front of Tezuka, but he was very aware of Tezuka walking behind him, and the quiet that surrounded them.

It was odd to be so comfortable like this with Tezuka, odd and disquieting, given that there was much that he wasn't comfortable with, but he still enjoyed it.

"You want to see me?" Tezuka's voice was low and soft, so unlike the Tezuka that most people knew. There was uncertainty there, too, and it made Fuji smile more wickedly.

"Do you want to see me, Tezuka?" Fuji looked over his shoulder at Tezuka.

Tezuka regarded him objectively. "Always."

Fuji stopped in his tracks, lowering his chin. He flexed his toes, wiggling them. "You shouldn't say things like that. You were the one who left. You should be more apologetic."

"Is that what you want? An apology?" It wasn't clear from the way the question was asked if one would be offered if the answer were affirmative.

Fuji scowled just a bit. "Did you really miss me, Tezuka?"

"Every day; every minute of every day." There was no hesitation in Tezuka's answer. He stepped forward, half reaching out to Fuji, each word colored with passion.

Cocking his head to the side, Fuji shrugged. "You didn't have to." He turned, and walked off toward Yuuta's room. He wasn't going to sleep, but he would enjoy being alone for a bit.

* * *

  


Kawamura sushi was the same as it always was, although Taka was now behind the counter, smiling nervously as his hands moved fast with the knife. Fuji waved at him absently as he headed upstairs to the private room. 

Inui was already there, but Fuji had known that Inui would already be there; his manager was always prepared for every eventuality. Fuji nodded at Inui, who bowed shortly, and he sat down on the floor opposite Inui.

"You look well. Was your vacation restful?" Inui adjusted his glasses, his fingers itching to take notes.

Fuji smiled tiredly. "No, not really. How are you, Inui? Who do you have entering Wimbledon this year?"

Inui waved his hand dismissively. "Sullivan, but he will be eliminated in the third round. I won't delay you with niceties. I have news."

Fuji poured himself some tea. "Tezuka is in Japan."

Inui made his flustered face. Fuji smirked. "Ah... you know? You've been in contact with him?"

"I ran into him at the spa," Fuji shrugged casually.

"I calculated the odds of that happening as being very, very low. Hm," Inui scowled at the table. "So, you spoke to him?"

"It would have been rude to ignore him," Fuji replied, unhelpfully.

Inui nodded seriously, reading more into what Fuji said. "Do you know about his arm?"

Fuji scowled. "Something is wrong with it, yes."

"It's destroyed."

Fuji nearly dropped his cup.

Inui leaned back, returned to his position of knowledge. "The tendons in his shoulder are completely destroyed. He requires surgery, but the results won't be promising. To be completely accurate, the tendons are _near_ the breaking point. With some careful training, he might be able to avoid further damage, but he definitely should not be playing."

"Wait," Fuji narrowed his eyes. "He's playing in that condition? What treatment has he sought?"

"None," Inui sighed with frustration. "It's clear what he is doing. He is ending his career on the greens of Wimbledon."

"I don't understand," Fuji leaned forward, his fists balling up reflexively. "What is he doing?"

"He's passing on the torch," Inui replied enigmatically.

When it was clear that Fuji was not going to ask anything further, Inui continued.

"He's never lost to Echizen. Did you know that? In the past few years, they have either just missed each other, or Tezuka has managed to pull off a win. Even though Echizen is ranked much higher than Tezuka, he has never beaten Tezuka, in any match."

Fuji scowled. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Based on their ranking, they will be in the same bracket. They will face each other. Tezuka is planning to lose his very last match to Echizen. I suppose being a pillar of strength is a full-time job." Inui smirked.

Highly annoyed, Fuji finished off his tea, even if it was too hot. "You know this for a fact? You've spoken to him about it?"

"I've seen his medical records," Inui smiled. "I've calculated all the probabilities. I am quite certain I know his intentions."

Fuji looked away. "You haven't always been right about him."

"He's retiring to Tokyo, you know." Inui pushed his glasses up on his nose, and leaned forward. "It was always a misunderstanding, Fuji."

Fuji put his chin on his fist. "A misunderstanding buried under five years. That... complicates things."

"Are you in love with Atobe?" The question was so clinical. Fuji wondered if Inui had quantified love in his calculations.

"In love?" Fuji smiled. "That's not the point at all, is it?"

"You will be happier with Tezuka." There was such rock-solid certainty in Inui's voice.

"You are sure of this?" Fuji smiled.

"One hundred percent," Inui declared affirmatively. "It is just a question of pride."

"Pride?" Fuji raised his eyebrow.

"His pride in admitting his errors. Your pride is accepting his apology." Inui looked up just as the waitress brought in their platters. 

Of course, Inui had ordered all of Fuji's favorites, and no one rolled a wasabi sushi roll like Taka. 

"You are both my friends, Fuji, and he is still my captain, in many ways. But more important than any of that... I am still your manager. I came all this way because it's important. Don't you want him back?" Inui spoke quietly, with a fervency that made Fuji look away.

"What I want... Shouldn't you know that better than anyone?" Fuji smiled, and picked up a piece of sushi. 

"I do," Inui nodded. "I wanted to make sure that you knew."

Fuji chewed his sushi thoughtfully, his mouth burning pleasantly. "There is a gulf, however, between desire and need, and between need and practicality. I can't just go back to him, Inui."

Inui lowered his chopsticks sadly. "And if he comes to you?"

Fuji closed his eyes. "I'm so tired of complications. Will you be in town long enough for my show?"

"Friday, correct?" Inui inquired, and then continued. "I will have to leave before then, I'm afraid. But Fuji..."

Fuji waved his hand, smiling. "You shouldn't worry yourself so much over trivialities, Inui. It's just not logical."

"No one ever said love was logical," Inui intoned seriously.

Fuji laughed. "Love hurts, that's what they say. Let's forget about love. I think I prefer sex to love, anyway. Sex is so much simpler." He took a decadent bite into his sushi, reveling in the flavor.

"You don't really believe that," Inui shook his head.

"And what are the odds that I do?" Fuji winked. "I can believe whatever I choose to."

Inui sighed. "You two always have to make things more difficult than they need to be, leaving the rest of the world at your feet. This time, it's simple. He loves you, Syuusuke."

It always bothered Fuji when Inui used his given name, because he only did so when he felt Fuji was in need of correction. 

"His love doesn't keep me warm at night, Inui," Fuji replied, keeping the sadness out of his voice. "I know what's best for me."

"Are you afraid of being hurt again?" 

Fuji smiled, more at Inui's soft tone than what he said. "Isn't everyone? Isn't that what pain is? A teacher? Touch the fire once, so you don't have to touch it twice."

Inui nodded slowly, lifting his chopsticks. "Pain is an obstacle. You've gotten complacent. In sports, we say, no pain, no gain."

"And what should I gain?" Fuji shrugged. "He doesn't have anything that I need anymore."

"Lies don't work on me," Inui warned. "And more importantly, if you don't believe it yourself, you shouldn't say it."

"I believe that what will be, will be," Fuji smiled. "It's ok, Inui. You shouldn't have come all this way for this."

Inui sighed. "It was no trouble, if it was for the two of you."

Fuji shook his head. "Whatever did we do to earn such loyalty from you, Inui?"

Fuji had been teasing, but Inui's smile was serious. "You both have something that I want but can never have. I would rather see what is precious to me in the hands of people I trust."

"Inui..." Fuji was honestly shocked, his chopsticks wavering in his hand.

Inui grinned. "And you said I couldn't surprise you." He paused, his smile fading. "Give him a chance, Syuusuke. Even the best of us make mistakes."

Fuji didn't respond, out of respect more than anything else, though he honestly didn't know what to say to that.

* * *

  


He was in the center of his own universe, exactly where he wanted to be. In his most comfortable jeans and shirt, on his knees, surrounded by tiny scraps of paper with windows showing the world as he alone could see it. It was an odd collection this time. He was having a show to display a particular set of photos, but they would just barely cover one wall of the gallery. For the rest of the walls, he needed something thematically linked to his showcase series, that wouldn't detract from the centerpiece, but at the same time, would be fresh and exciting.

He always waited until the last minute to do this, and he always loved it, every second of it.

He turned in place, fingering an old photo speculatively. Every time he had a show, he considered this piece. It was definitely one of his better photos, but it was... personal? It was older, too, from before he considered this to be his 'profession,' so it was probably not up to the standard of the rest. And, he didn't technically have the permission of the subject. And yet, there was definitely no denying that it had raw beauty.

Then again, Fuji had always loved Tezuka's blush, and he had washed out the color in this print, so that it appeared to be in a dry, pale sepia tone, with only the tiniest hint of color over the cheekbones. It was a _good_ print.

It was his.

He put the photo down, and sighed to himself.

"Happy?"

He didn't look up, but he smiled. That would be enough. 

Atobe dropped a bouquet with a dozen roses on the floor, outside the circle of photographs. "I know you love this."

"Are you done being dramatic, then?" Fuji pushed around the pictures, looking for the right ones. 

"I should apologize," Atobe shrugged, stepping carefully into the circle, his bare feet not touching even the edge of a single picture. "I was angry, but I shouldn't have left like that." He stepped closer and closer to Fuji, walking in a wide circle around him. "Did you sleep with him?"

"With who?" Fuji picked up a photo of Eiji and Oishi. He smiled; they were so... alive. Something in the one brought out the other's verve. 

"I hate it when you wear that shirt."

Fuji smirked. The shirt was poured over him, hanging off his shoulders, and even with the sleeves rolled up four times, they were still long on him. But then, this shirt had been big on its original owner as well. "It's comfortable."

"I like it when you wear my clothes better," Atobe sighed.

Fuji shrugged. "I thought you hated it when I stole from your closet."

"Only when you keep what you take," Atobe smiled.

Looking over his shoulder at Atobe, Fuji smiled. "I always keep what I take, Keigo."

Atobe's smile faded. "I know that." He continued to circle Fuji. "Are you leaving me, Syuusuke?"

"Why do you ask?" Fuji returned his attention to the photos before him, though he wasn't really seeing them anymore. 

Atobe was right behind him, was kneeling behind him, had his hands on him, was pressed against his back. "I'm not giving you up so easily."

Fuji half closed his eyes, and leaned back against Atobe. "It's not really your choice, is it?"

Atobe's fingers dug into Fuji's flesh. "I can't understand it. Why would you go crawling back to him? You are so much better than him..." His hands snaked down Fuji's body, finding the holes in Fuji's jeans to slither over Syuusuke's bare legs. "He left you. He never tried to contact you... if you hadn't run into him at that resort, there's no way to know when he would have contacted you. And you are going to go running back to him the moment you see him?" Atobe pressed his mouth under Fuji's ear, licking the exact spot that made Fuji's spine tingle. His hands poured over his body, sliding up and down in just the right ways.

Fuji put his hands on Atobe's knees, and leaned back against him. "It's not..."

Atobe put a hand on Fuji's neck, holding his head in place. "We're good together, aren't we, Syuusuke? I can make you scream, I can make you cry, I can make you laugh... I know you, inside and out. He may have known you longer, but I know you better. I know the man that you are, now. Can you honestly tell me that he can satisfy you the way I can?" Atobe turned Syuusuke's face to kiss him, roughly, powerfully, savagely.

Fuji dug his nails in. "Keigo... not here, we'll ruin the pictures..."

Atobe grinned, and looked across the room at the futon. He stood up, pulling Fuji up with him. "We live in the same world, you and I. A world of culture and art." He drew Fuji along, leading him to the futon. "We are stars in the same sky. It's a different sky than you used to orbit in; it's a different world than the one you shared with him. You're a different person now. Syuusuke..." He pulled Fuji up to his body, and wrapped his arms around him. "Syuusuke, stay with me."

"Keigo..." Fuji laughed, turning his head away. 

Atobe pushed Fuji down onto the futon, kissing his mouth, kissing his cheeks, his chin, his neck, anywhere. "I excite you, Syuusuke." His hand slid down, slipped under Fuji's shirt, lifted it up, slid it off of Fuji's skin. "I challenge you. What more can you want?"

"Want?" Fuji echoed weakly, allowing himself to be drawn into Atobe's passion, but his mind was lagging behind, circling around questions that he knew the answers to; he could hear Inui's voice from lunch mixing with Atobe's voice above him. 

Atobe put his hands on Fuji, applied his mouth to Fuji's bare skin, bared more skin. "Want, Syuusuke. Tell me that you don't want me anymore. Tell me that you're done with me, that you have no more use for me." He slipped his hand into Fuji's pants.

Fuji tilted his head back, groaning, clinging to Atobe. 

Smirking, Atobe slipped off Fuji's jeans entirely. "I know this body. I know your habits. I know what jeans you wear boxers with, and which you wear briefs with, and which you wear nothing at all with. I know where you liked to be touched, and what drinks you want to go with your moods, and I can tell when you want to go out and get drunk, and when you want to stay in, and when you want to be ravaged, and when you want to be adored."

"What do I want, Keigo?" Fuji grabbed a hold of Atobe's shirt, clawing at it. "Tell me what I want."

Atobe licked his way up Fuji's neck, and took possession of Fuji's mouth. "You want what everyone wants, baby. You want your cake, and to eat it, too." He slid his hand up the inside of Fuji's thigh. "Let me give you the world, gorgeous. Let me put the stars on a platter for you."

Fuji put his hands in Atobe's hair, felt the fine, perfectly black strands slip through his fingers, like silk, like the finest silk in the world. He tore Atobe's tie off, and opened his shirt. "Tell me... that you want me. That you want to fuck me."

Atobe laughed, and opened his pants. "Damn it, Syuusuke, can't you tell? Want you, yes, want to fuck you blind, want to set your skin on fire. Tell you? Let me show you."

Fuji didn't want to wait. He slid his arms in under Atobe's shirt, and spread his legs out, hooking them over Atobe's hip. He rolled his head back as Atobe crashed into him, again and again. He kept his arms around Atobe, and his head back, so Atobe could taste his neck, but he couldn't see his eyes.

Right before he hit his climax, he thought, how perfectly their bodies fit together.

It wasn't the norm for Atobe to cling to him after sex, but it wasn't unusual, either, and this time, he didn't mind. He didn't mind the way Atobe kissed him, and brushed his hand through his hair, either. He kept his eyes closed, and held on, opening his mouth for Atobe, responding to his touch, just being with him.

"Stay with me, Syuusuke." Atobe's whisper shivered across his skin. Fuji smiled softly, and stretched out. He wriggled around, blinking owlishly as he searched for the clock on the wall. 

"I have a dinner appointment."

Atobe pulled away slightly. "With whom?"

Fuji sat up, stretching out his back and neck as he did. "Can I borrow your shirt? I don't want to wear this one."

Atobe watched him carefully, and then slid out of his shirt. "You _are_ coming home tonight."

It wasn't quite a question, and it wasn't quite not a question, either. Fuji slipped into Atobe's shirt. "I don't think I'll be late, anyway, but if you get tired, go on to bed." He stood up, and found his jeans.

Atobe stretched out on the futon. "Do you know what you are doing, Syuusuke? You might lose this game if you aren't careful."

Fuji grinned at Atobe as he buttoned his jeans. "I don't lose, Keigo. You know that." He kissed Atobe's forehead before slouching off.

* * *

  


The restaurant was darkly lit, with candles floating in small bowls of water at each table. Tezuka was wearing a suit, and he always looked so _damned_ good in a suit. Fuji was definitely under dressed in a silk shirt and torn jeans, but he didn't mind at all. He smiled as he sat down opposite Tezuka. "I'm sorry, did I keep you waiting?"

Tezuka shook his head once. "It was nothing. Working late?"

Fuji laughed, picking up the water goblet to slack his thirst. "I was having sex with Keigo." It wasn't funny, really, but, in a way, that look on Tezuka's face _was_ making him laugh.

He saw the dark something inside of his heart inspiring this. It surprised him, a little, but he couldn't deny his feelings.

"I'm sorry. That was probably hurtful, just saying it like that, wasn't it?" Fuji smiled and sighed, resting his cheek on his hand. In truth, he was tired. He felt like he hadn't slept in days. 

Tezuka looked away. "You don't need to concern yourself with my feelings. They obviously aren't a priority to you."

"Are you playing so you could lose to Echizen?" Fuji asked abruptly. 

Blinking, Tezuka looked at Fuji. 

Fuji smiled, looking away to hide his bitterness. "You could just retire now. Have the surgery, fix your shoulder, and... let it go. I don't want to bruise your ego, but I doubt Echizen is as eager to play you as you are to play him. In the condition you are in now, the victory would be meaningless to him."

"You seem to know a lot about my condition now." Tezuka wasn't trying at all to hide his bitterness.

"Well, I have sources." Fuji yawned. "This is complicated, isn't it?"

"Too complicated to even try?" Tezuka asked, sounding petulant.

Fuji reached across the table, sliding his hand over Tezuka's. "Too complicated to deal with in one night, or even two. I'm tired, Tezuka."

Tezuka turned his hand over, and held onto Fuji's hand. "It could be so easy, Syuusuke. Come back to me."

"Stay with me. Come back to me. Everyone knows what I want," Fuji sighed, pulling his hand away. He finished his water. "This isn't a good idea, Tezuka. I'm not in the right mood." He stood up.

Tezuka stood up, too, unmindful of the watchful eyes around them. "Don't leave, Syuusuke. Please."

"Please." Fuji echoed as he smiled halfheartedly, shaking his head. "Come to my gallery on Friday, Tezuka. I'll be in the right frame of mind then." He shrugged, perhaps in apology, perhaps in disinterest. He left the restaurant, left Tezuka behind, and stepped out onto the street. 

He needed to hail a cab, but he wasn't in the mood to speak to anyone, not even to just give his address. It was a long walk back, and even though it was summer, he felt cold, and tired, and hungry, too. He stopped at a vending machine, but didn't end up buying anything, because there was nothing there he wanted.

The elevator up to their apartment was always blessedly quiet, completely silent. He leaned against the back of the car, and closed his eyes. 

He walked up the stairs to their bedroom slowly, his feet heavy. Atobe was stretched out in bed, reading some file. Work. Atobe hated doing work at home, but he often read work papers when he was annoyed. Fuji smiled at him softly. He knew Atobe far too well.

Atobe watched him carefully. "That was quick."

Fuji shrugged, stripping. "I'm going to take a shower."

Atobe nodded, and made no move to get up.

Their shower was a work of art. There were six shower heads, all of which poured steaming hot water over his body like a heavy rainstorm. He stayed in the shower until his skin was pink, and every muscle in his body was relaxed. He wrapped himself up in a thick, white terry cloth robe, and walked back out to the bedroom, leaving his hair wet.

Atobe was sitting on the bed in his pajama bottoms, a tray of warm cookies on the bed. He didn't say a word, but he had a towel ready to dry Fuji's hair as he ate. There was a glass of milk on the bedside table next to Fuji. 

Atobe got the lights as Fuji slipped under the covers, pulling the blanket up to his chin, even though it was too warm for it. Atobe slipped into bed next to him, gathering Fuji into his arms, and kissing Fuji goodnight softly on his forehead.

Fuji slept so soundly, Atobe couldn't even wake him to say goodbye in the morning.


	5. Part Four

It was raining, naturally, because it was always raining when one moved, if it wasn't snowing. Of course, there wasn't really much to move. The apartment came furnished, which was nice, although he was free to redecorate as long as he used the service associated with the rental agency. 

It didn't particularly matter to Tezuka, one way or the other. He had let his agent handle all the details, and he had gone down to Oishi's university for the morning. Oishi had students, but he was still very glad to see his old friend. Tezuka didn't need to feel awkward, because it was Oishi, and time may pass, but Oishi would always be Oishi.

He had picked the neighborhood for his new apartment because Fuji had said when they were in middle school that he liked this neighborhood. He picked a color scheme that reminded him of Fuji. His possessions were moved in, as much as he had available, but until Fuji moved in, he would feel as if it was incomplete.

Oishi had followed him to the new place, managing to keep up a steady stream of chatter, despite Tezuka's lack of initiative. It wasn't in his nature to complain in general, but today, the rain had never been less attractive, the subway had never been more congested, the streets had never been more crowded with idiots, and there was no slower elevator in the world up to his apartment.

Even Oishi could only manage so much cheer in the face of such a mood.

"It's a nice place, Tezuka." That was the fourth time Oishi had said that. Clearly, he was hoping for something more than a scowl.

"You knew about Atobe." Not a direct response, but the best he could come up with, now that they were alone, and they could talk.

Oishi looked away. "Of course I did. He's my friend, too."

"You never told me," Tezuka sighed. He had a decent view. There was a park just across the street; there were even tennis courts. It was a good view, even if it was raining.

"When was I supposed to tell you, Tezuka? You never called." That was as close to a reproach as Oishi would get, and it sounded more like a regret.

Tezuka put his hand on the glass. It hurt to raise his arm this high. Tomorrow, it would likely be worse. "I'm inapproachable, it appears."

"Tezuka..." Oishi fussed. He fussed when he was nervous. That was true, even in middle school. "He loves you."

That was quiet, and it hurt. "I'm sure he does, but he doesn't have any trouble fucking _him_ , even still." Tezuka curled his fingers into a ball, and squeezed his fist as tightly as he could. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Oishi was making tea. It was absurd, but comforting, somehow. "What was I supposed to do, Tezuka? You'd _left_."

Again and again, he was faced with the same thing. Unavoidable. "My fault, then. It's because of _me_ that he's screwing that prima donna asshole. That makes sense. I wonder if I was out of the country before he was on his back." He didn't think he was this bitter, but he certainly sounded like he was.

"Tezuka," Oishi warned, softly. "That's not fair. He..."

" _Atobe_ , Oishi. Why _Atobe_? I thought I knew him. I thought... I suppose I was wrong." He closed his eyes, leaning forward just a bit. "I never would have guessed that he would be... promiscuous."

"Tezuka, that's not fair!" Oishi protested.

"Fair?" Tezuka scoffed. "Life isn't fair, Oishi. If it were, I wouldn't be moving into this apartment alone, while he's letting _Atobe_ do nefarious things to his body. _Atobe_. Perhaps it's for the best. Apparently, he needs something I don't have. There is a limited amount of time I can spend staring at myself in the mirror before I get bored. I'm certainly not depraved enough."

"Tezuka!" Oishi cried out, sounding desperate.

Tezuka started pacing. "It makes me sick, Oishi. It **is** sick. I just don't understand how the man I loved could be with him. Which means that the man I loved must be gone. He gave him up so he could be with _Atobe_."

"You don't understand..."

"Of course I don't," Tezuka spat out angrily. "What's to understand? What does he have in common with that peacock? Nothing. He _had_ nothing in common with him, but it's been a long time, I suppose. It's his choice, of course. He made his own choice. I never thought Fuji would be _shallow_ , but maybe _Atobe_ is that good in bed."

"Tezuka, stop it!" Oishi raised his voice, and slammed the teapot down on the counter. 

Tezuka turned to look at Oishi.

He took a deep breath, and he started to speak, forcefully. "You don't have the right to say these things. _You left_. He didn't know when or if you were coming back; no one did. He was... he was waiting for you, Tezuka. And he was..." Oishi sighed, and looked away. "He wasn't like Fuji. He wasn't... He couldn't... He was _waiting_ for you, Tezuka."

Tezuka watched Oishi carefully, searching for each nuance of meaning in his body language and tone of voice. Oishi looked pained, and he wasn't meeting Tezuka's gaze.

"He was waiting. Just... going through the motions, jumping every time the phone rang. And then..." Oishi turned his back to Tezuka. "When he first ran into Atobe... Atobe annoyed him. He challenged him. And... Fuji was a bit more like himself.

"When news hit about you and... that girl... Inui had sent Fuji a copy of the London paper the day before it hit the stands. Fuji was... Eiji and I weren't any help. I think... we made it seem like someone had died. Atobe... he made it better, Tezuka. When Fuji started to get serious about photography, Atobe's connections in the art world made things much easier for him. Tezuka... you can't repair what's been lost between the two of you if you don't acknowledge that there _is_ something that Atobe can offer him that Fuji needs."

Tezuka put his back to the window, and stared at his modern, antiseptic couch. "Then I've already lost him..."

Oishi chuckled softly. "You can win him back. The only hard part is admitting you were wrong."

He put his head in his hand. "I need him, Oishi."

He didn't hear Oishi approach him, but he wasn't surprised when Oishi put his hand on his shoulder. "Get him back, then, Tezuka."

Tezuka sighed. He didn't think it would be that easy.

* * *

  


He could get his job done if the damned phone would stop ringing. Or if his inbox wasn't filled with panicked messages that drained away his time by drops as he dealt with them. Or if his damned secretary wasn't so busy flirting with the entire accounting department to get his coffee for him like she was supposed to...

He wasn't entirely surprised to find that the chair opposite his desk was occupied when he got back, because this particular visitor often dropped in unannounced, and it had been a few weeks. He could have picked a better morning.

"Oshitari, you have five minutes, and then I want you gone."

"Ah, Kei-chan, that's not nice. You should treat your friends better. Or is your cute little lover being too tight for you to be in a good mood?" Oshitari was skilled at sneering like no one else Atobe had ever met. It was infuriating, to say the least.

"Call me that again, Oshitari, and I'll make you significantly less useful to Mukahi," Atobe showed his friend his own sneer as he sat down behind his desk. "What did you want?"

Oshitari chuckled, and leaned back, putting his feet up on Atobe's desk. "Wanted to let you know that we won't be going to your lover's little party on Friday. Gakuto has been whining to me a lot about his work schedule, so I'm taking him to the hot springs this weekend. By the way, can you get me reservations to the hot springs this weekend?"

Atobe glared, and pushed Oshitari's feet off of his desk. "I'm not surprised Mukahi whines, with a layabout like you hanging around. Do I look like a travel agent to you?"

"You're very uptight," Oshitari grinned, leaning forward. "Mm, this wouldn't anything to do with the fact that Tezuka is in town, would it? Don't tell me you've been losing sleep, waiting up for Fuji-kun to come home?"

"Honestly, how do you know anything about that? Did they publish his homecoming in the paper?" Atobe groused, turning to his email. Another twenty messages. It wasn't like they were working for a law firm or a biotech company. What could possibly be so urgent in the hotel business to warrant all this furor? 

Oshitari chuckled. "Jirou called us. He was all excited because Tezuka is training in his gym. He's hoping he gets a chance to play him before he leaves for England."

Atobe shook his head. "That Jirou. You're going to the hot springs this weekend? I'll have my secretary call as soon as she gets back from whoring herself on the third floor."

He expected Oshitari to say 'thank you' in his snide way, or at least say goodbye, but after a moment of quiet, Atobe looked up to find himself being scrutinized. "Don't tell me you're going to give up to the tennis star? You surprise me, Atobe."

Scowling, Atobe turned back to his email. "What in the world makes you think I'm going to give up? Trust me, I know where my lover sleeps every night."

"Ah, well, that's good," Oshitari said pessimistically. "But how do you plan on keeping him?"

"Isn't my natural charm enough?" Atobe wasn't being entirely serious or sarcastic.

"Perhaps," Oshitari laughed. "But I think your opponent has a great deal of natural charm, as well."

"He has the personality of a block of wood," Atobe replied flatly.

"Do you think Fuji-kun likes wood?" Oshitari asked with affected innocence.

Atobe scowled.

Oshitari chuckled. "It's not like you to lack confidence. You're always so sure of what's yours. Are you sure you are feeling well?"

"I know perfectly well what's mine, Oshitari," Atobe returned icily. "This isn't really any of your business."

"Maybe it's for the best," Oshitari mused. "After all, it must be a great disappointment to your father that you are living so ostensibly with another man. You can leave Fuji-kun, and make it seem like it was your idea, and you can marry some nice, bloodless woman who can make beautiful babies for you. It's the proper thing for someone in your position to do, isn't it?"

Atobe dropped his hands in his lap, and glared at Oshitari. "I don't concern myself with my father's good regard, and neither should you. As far as that goes, shouldn't _you_ be more worried? After all, your _very proper_ Kansai family _can't_ be pleased to have you living in Tokyo with another man who works to support you while you pretend to be a novelist."

Oshitari just laughed. "My second novel will be done soon. And my situation is different. After all, Gakuto loves me back." He stood up, and put his hands on the desk, leaning over to smirk in Atobe's face. "You made a mistake when you got involved with that one."

Atobe lifted his hand slowly, his forefinger and thumb forming an 'o', and he rather deliberately flicked Oshitari's nose. "Don't shove your counsel off on me, Oshitari. I can manage my own business myself."

Oshitari rubbed his nose, annoyed, and he straightened up. "I'm only saying this as a friend. If you are going to lose, you'd be better off cutting him loose now, rather than waiting for him to leave you."

"I don't lose," Atobe grumbled.

"Neither does Tezuka-san," Oshitari reminded cheerfully. "It doesn't matter, I suppose. It will be entertaining, either way."

Atobe felt like throwing something at him, but he didn't have anything sufficiently large and sharp nearby.

Oshitari laughed as he left. "Remember, I'm just being a good friend! And don't forget about the hot springs reservations, Kei-chan!"

He would have liked to slam the door behind Oshitari, but he would have to get up to do that, and it wouldn't do any good, anyway. There was just no helping that one.

Atobe spent a great deal of time pondering whether or not to tell his secretary to call the hot springs.

* * *

  


He took a step back to survey his work, and ran right into a warm body that was very willing to hold onto him. He smiled, but his attention was still on the walls. 

"What do you think? And please be honest."

"When am I not honest, Syuusuke?" Atobe put his chin on Fuji's shoulder, and looked over the presentation carefully. "I think you're more worried about this show than normal. Expecting someone special to show up?"

Fuji ran his hands over Atobe's arms, tightly embracing him. "Someone special always shows up. But regardless, what do you think of the work?"

Atobe brushed his lips over Fuji's cheek, and smiled. "It's both as good as you've ever done, and as bad."

Fuji cocked his head to the side and regarded the photographs on the wall. "Elaborate."

"Some pieces are vibrant, suggesting life. Some pieces, though, are nothing more than more of the same of what you've done before." He pulled Fuji closer as he spoke, rubbing his cheek against Fuji's.

Fuji took a moment to consider, and then smiled. "It's true, but I think the show will be a success anyway, don't you?"

Atobe chuckled. "Most likely."

Sighing, Fuji relaxed against Atobe. "I hate it when things are too easy."

"With you, lover, nothing is ever easy," Atobe chuckled.

Fuji turned away from the pictures, pushing his face against Atobe's chest. "Mm, but you like a challenge, don't you, Keigo?"

"Always," Atobe murmured. "You didn't include it."

Fuji didn't reply right away, but his smile got wider. "It's personal."

"I'm not sure how to take that," Atobe sighed. "You have a picture of me wearing nothing but my charming smile up there. It's not indecent, but it's _intimate_. That picture isn't even that revealing." Fuji wasn't going to say anything, Atobe knew, but he gave him a chance to, anyway. "I suppose if you are one of the few to see those eyes, you don't necessarily want to share them."

Fuji pulled away from Atobe's arms, and turned his back fully to the wall with his work. "It's done, at any rate. Let's go out. Take me out, Keigo." He smiled, and took Atobe's hands in his own.

Shaking his head, Atobe pulled Fuji close for a kiss. "Are we celebrating, honey, or running away?"

"Carpe diem," Fuji winked. "There's not a moment to waste, sweetie."

Atobe followed Fuji slowly, feeling like he was walking through mud.

* * *

  


He didn't know how to dress for a gallery opening, so he just had Sam pick out clothes for him. She clearly resented the task, but she didn't let that keep her from doing a good job. He glanced at his reflection in the window before he entered the gallery. His pants were sleek, black silk, and they hung nicely, his shirt was white, with a stripped textured pattern, and he had a black blazer on that was fitted, and cut well to display his body. He wore the shirt mostly open, and his usual charm at his neck. 

He looked good enough to see Fuji, he thought. 

The gallery was called Grand Slam, and the exterior was rather simple, bordering on the aesthetic. There were security guards at the door, checking identification against their lists. Surprisingly, there was quite a crowd outside, even. 

Inside, it was wall-to-wall people. Tezuka found large crowds to be stifling, and his first impulse was to exit again immediately, but he needed to see Fuji. He navigated his way around, nearly jumping when a helpful young lady in black pants and a white shirt offered him a slip of paper in exchange for his blazer. He wasn't confident that he was still properly attired without it, but he didn't think it was polite to refuse.

The gallery wasn't huge. There was a reception area, and a small room to the left, which was currently displaying the work of scholarship winners of a local university. The main portion of the gallery was to the right, and that's were the crowd was the thickest, as well.

Tezuka took a glass of champagne, simply because he was cornered and had no way of communicating his lack of interest. He wasn't able to look over the photographs on the wall very easily, either, because there were too many people there. He did see some, when he got close enough to the walls. There was one of Oishi and Kikumaru, where Kikumaru had an... interesting look on his face. There was a picture of a hand, surrounded by flowers. The hand was crushing a flower bud, and it appeared to be bleeding. There was a picture that appeared to be on a stage at a fashion show, the lights blurred, suggesting motion, and the center of focus seemed to shift depending on which angle from which the picture was viewed.

He wasn't prepared to see Fuji when he did, even though it was the entire purpose of his evening.

Fuji was wearing a sheer, textured white shirt, buttoned in the middle, over a series of interconnected black leather straps that spanned his torso, and black leather pants. He had a black leather collar around his throat, with a shiny silver buckle. His hair was streaked with black highlights. And, he had Atobe strapped to his waist, wearing a silk black suit, and a matching collar. 

His choice of wardrobe was enough to make Tezuka dizzy, but it was the way he was with Atobe that made Tezuka sick to his stomach. They were in the middle of a circle of well-dressed sophisticates, all of whom appeared to believe that they were part of an elite caste, and Atobe was telling some sort of joke. Fuji was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and affection.

They fit together, in this circle of people, in this setting; they were kings in their own kingdom.

Tezuka watched them, careful to stay out of Fuji's line of sight. The two of them worked the crowd with polished ease. Everyone they talked to left thinking they were the most important person who had talked to the artist that night, and yet, they didn't linger too long with any one group of people. They were openly affectionate with one another, and it seemed to be part of the 'show' for the evening. They clearly knew that they were doing.

It was torture, but Tezuka had to stay to watch. He saw other people in the crowd he knew as well, like Oishi and Kikumaru, and Kawamura, but he evaded them as well.

Fuji was beautiful. This was the universe he had been born to inhabit, a world in which he could hold the spotlight and shine. And Atobe had brought him here.

Tezuka lifted his glass, and swallowed the contents all at once, barely able to taste the liquid. This was pointless. Even if he could get Fuji's attention, this wasn't the arena for him to make his move. He shuffled his way through the crowd, slipped away from Oishi at one point, until he found the coat check.

There was no one inside, so Tezuka slipped in, and started to look for his blazer. It was really nothing more than a closet, stuffed to capacity with coats, shawls, and jackets. He found the section that corresponded to his number, at least he thought he had, but his blazer was nowhere to be found.

"Leaving so soon, Tezuka-kun?"

He knew that voice too well. He froze.

Fuji clucked his tongue. "And you didn't even say hello. That's rude. Having trouble finding something?"

Tezuka turned to face him, blanking his expression. He cleared his throat, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He held up his coat check ticket, and looked over Fuji's shoulder. "You're quite the success."

Fuji took the ticket from Tezuka, making sure to brush his fingers over Tezuka's as he did. "People love a good party. Let's see..." He stepped inside the coat check, slipping in close to Tezuka so he could close the door. "It's hard to think with all that noise, isn't it? Besides, I'd like a chance to just... talk to you."

"Do you still want to talk to me, Syuusuke?" Fuji was standing very close, close enough for Tezuka to smell the trace of cologne wafting off of him. 

"I asked you to come tonight, didn't I, Tezuka?" Fuji smiled a bit too brightly, and stepped just a bit closer to Tezuka. 

Tezuka winced a bit at the forceful way in which Fuji used his name. "You look..."

Fuji tilted his head to the side, waiting for Tezuka to finish his sentence. "Sexy? Do you think I look sexy?"

He felt hot. There wasn't any air circulating in here, and they were surrounded by coats. Fuji had reached out to run his fingers over Tezuka's hand. He couldn't look Fuji in the eye. "You always do."

"Mm," Fuji sighed. "That's not very encouraging." He leaned forward, putting his arms around Tezuka. "Are you glad you came tonight, Tezuka?"

He turned his head so he could look Fuji in the eye, their noses brushing together. "Are you?"

Fuji pulled back, and looked at the ticket in his hand. "No, of course not. I'm entirely dissatisfied." He turned around, and reached out, pulling out Tezuka's blazer without needing to look at all. "I wanted a chance to show you my work. I wanted to spend time with you. But it's the opening... You'll have to come back." Fuji held open Tezuka blazer for him.

Tezuka turned around, and let Fuji slip his jacket on for him. He felt his heart pounding. Fuji's hands ran up his arms, and settled on his shoulders, probing gently. He took the hand on his left shoulder, and turned, lifting the hand to kiss it. "Tell me when, and I'll be back."

"You only have another week in Japan, right?" Fuji said it casually, but he wasn't pulling his hand away, and he had clearly remembered Tezuka's schedule.

"My time is your time if you want it," Tezuka shrugged. He tightened his grip on Fuji's hand. "When can I see you again?"

Fuji slipped his hand away slowly, his smile curling up coyly, his eyes downcast. "Come back on Monday. You can see the show properly." He leaned up, put his hand on Tezuka's face, and kissed Tezuka fleetingly.

He opened the door and left. Tezuka waited a moment for his flesh to cool, and then he exited, making his way to the door out as efficiently as he could.

Monday. That wasn't too far away.

* * *

  


Fuji swung his keys around his finger a few times before dropping them on the counter. He was still whistling some of the music that they had played tonight, a bit off-key, just because it was more fun that way. Atobe had been very quiet on the way home, and that was annoying. Fuji sauntered into the kitchen, and opened the refrigerator. 

"It was fun, wasn't it, Keigo? Don't tell me you're tired... That would be so disappointing." Fuji opened up a bottle of water, and took a long, long gulp.

Atobe stayed on the other side of the counter separating the kitchen from the dining room. He was watching Fuji from hooded eyes. 

Fuji sighed, and rubbed the water bottle over his forehead. "Are you brooding, Keigo? How boring."

Atobe was glaring. "I saw you."

"Saw me?" Fuji cocked his head to the side. "Of course you did. We were together all night long."

"Not quite all night," Atobe corrected with a tight growl as he prowled around the counter, closing in on Fuji. "There was a time when you left my side."

Fuji sighed. "Did you miss me, baby?"

Atobe reached out a grabbed Fuji's wrist, forcing him to drop the water bottle, which rolled away. Fuji snarled, but Atobe pulled him in close. "Do you honestly believe you can do whatever the hell you want, _right in front of me_? I'm not amused, Syuusuke."

He pulled at his arm, but Atobe just tightened his grip. "Isn't that what _you_ think, _honey?_ Let go of me."

"Let go of you?" Atobe sneered, grabbing Fuji's other arm, as well. "I damn well will not. You're mine, Syuusuke, and I'm tired of playing these games."

"That's all we do, _sweetie_ ," Fuji struggled, planting his feet so he could try to get out of Atobe's grip, but Atobe wasn't letting go. "If you want to stop, it's fine with me. And last I checked, I wasn't property."

"Did you fuck him in the coat closet, you little..." Atobe bit off the sentence, his face twisted in disgust and wretchedness. "Did you get down on your knees like a good little acolyte, and give him a blowjob?"

"Jealous, Keigo?" Fuji sneered. "You should be."

Atobe tossed Fuji onto the floor roughly, and dropped on top of him, pinning his hands and his legs down. "You little bitch... I'm done with this, Syuusuke. You _aren't_ going back to him. I'm not ready to give up on you." He covered Fuji's mouth, biting at him.

Fuji's head was still ringing from hitting the floor, and his arms were sore where Atobe had grabbed him. It was getting hard to breathe. He tried to shift, to push Atobe off, to free an arm or leg, but he couldn't get leverage. Atobe broke off the kiss, and moved Fuji's hands so he could hold them both in one hand, and he shoved his free hand in Fuji's pants.

"This is mine, Syuu-chan, and I'm not going to share you. He left you. _He didn't want you._ And I did, and I still do. It's time you forgot about Tezuka, forever."

Atobe was biting him, biting his nipple, grabbing his groin roughly. It hurt. He snarled, and tried to move, but it didn't matter. Atobe was bigger than he was, and he had the advantage. Fuji couldn't get free. 

He gritted his teeth, and turned his head away, closing his eyes tightly. 

"You're about to do something you won't be able to take back."

Atobe froze. He let go of Fuji, pushing off so he could stand up. He huffed disgustedly at Fuji. He kicked Fuji in a not entirely accidental way as he walked away.

As he approached the stairs to the bedroom, he looked over his shoulder at the kitchen.

"I hate the way you make me feel."

Fuji stayed on the floor, cradling himself, until he heard the water starting in the shower upstairs. He was laughing, which was surprising, even to himself, but he couldn't stop. He turned to his side, and pushed himself up, eventually getting to his feet. He felt old, and tired. He could go upstairs, in theory, but he really didn't want to; he grabbed his keys and left.

He wrapped his arms around his body, and bit his lip to keep from laughing. It was four thirty in the morning, it was dark, it was cold, and he had no idea where he was going. It should be Atobe out on the street, not him. He felt sick from being too cold and hungry and slightly hung over. 

He really had no idea where he was going. He recognized that he was headed for Eiji and Oishi's neighborhood when he passed the coffee shop he sometimes met Eiji at for breakfast. He kept going until he got to their building, but he walked right past it. Eiji would just let him go to sleep, but Oishi would worry, and fuss over him, and maybe even call Tezuka if he knew Tezuka's number. It seemed complex.

He started to laugh again when he realized that he would go to Tezuka if he knew where he was.

His sister was completely out of the question. She had small children, and her husband would look over his shoulder, trying to ignore that he had married into this 'deviancy,' and she would get angry. There really wasn't anyone else he would trust.

When he got to the building, the doorman recognized him and let him in without calling upstairs, so he had to knock fairly loudly to wake Yuuta up. He heard Yuuta grumbling on the other side of the door as he shuffled to answer it, but he kept knocking, because it was the sort of thing he would do. Yuuta glared at him as soon as he opened the door.

"Aniki, what the hell?"

Fuji smiled. "Let me stay the night, ok?"

Yuuta grumbled, and stepped aside, letting him enter. "Fuck, aniki, you're soaking wet. How long have you been out in the rain?"

"Was it raining?" Fuji sighed, forcing his smile a little wider. He brushed his hand through his hair, squeezing out fat drops of water. "Ah, I hadn't noticed. Too bad. I like the rain. I'm sorry, Yuuta, I'm dripping on your floor." He turned and smiled brightly at his brother.

Sighing, Yuuta locked the door and walked past Fuji. "What the hell? What happened, did something go badly at the show?" Yuuta looked a bit shamefaced.

Fuji laughed quietly. Yuuta never came to his shows; he hated the art crowds. His sister never came, either, because she preferred to view his work when it was just the two of them. She got too angry when she heard criticism. "No, nothing's wrong. Is it ok? What's-her-face isn't here, is she?"

Yuuta rolled his eyes. "Right, everything's perfect. That's why you were out in the rain for hours and are here, instead of at home."

Fuji was really too tired for this. He turned his brightest smile on for Yuuta. "We don't get enough time together, don't you think?"

"You don't have to do this," Yuuta frowned, looking down. "I'm not a little kid. You can be honest with me. Did he hurt you?"

His smile faltered. "I'm tired, Yuuta. Don't ask me any questions, all right?"

For a moment, Yuuta just looked at him, considering. The he smiled tightly. "Have a shower, aniki. I'll get you something to sleep in."

Fuji sighed. He peeled off his clothes in the bathroom, just tossing them into a pile in the corner. He ripped the collar off viciously, and spent far too much time getting himself caught in the straps that were interlaced over his torso. He practically ripped the seams of his pants pulling them off. 

It felt good to be naked, and under the spray of hot water. It felt like his skin was burning at first, but it was good, a heat that spread down to his bones. He had bruises on his arms, light ones, just pale yellow, spread out where Atobe's hands had been. He sighed, and closed his eyes, putting his face into the spray, just rinsing his body in the water.

Yuuta had slipped some pajamas in the bathroom while he was in the shower. They fit loosely on him, and the pants were too long, but it felt nice to be wrapped up in something soft and familial. Before he could slip out of the bedroom to sleep on the couch, Yuuta scooted over on the bed.

"It's plenty big enough."

Fuji smiled, genuinely, though Yuuta couldn't see it. "Thanks, Yuuta."

Yuuta grumbled. "Just stay on your side of the bed, ok?"

Fuji laughed, though there was no force to his chuckles. "No problem."

It was quiet, and warm, and dark, and he was going to just fall into a dead sleep in a minute, but he couldn't stop smiling. "Hey, Yuuta... this is becoming a habit with us, isn't it?"

"Just go to sleep, aniki," Yuuta sighed.


	6. Part Five

It was annoyingly sunny. His sunglasses, of course, were at home, with all the rest of his things. Yuuta had given him a shirt and sweats to wear. He was too warm, but it was all Yuuta had that would fit him right. He smiled at the receptionist as he walked past her. She definitely wasn't expecting him in today; she was wearing just a tank and a skirt. Her name was Yumi, and she had extraordinary hands, which was why he had hired her.

"Fuji-sama! Excuse me, sir, but... I'm... I'm glad you came in today. We received a delivery of twenty dozen roses!" She smiled brightly.

Fuji sighed. Her lipstick was too pink. It didn't suit her darker skin. "Mm, did we? Get whoever is around, and pull the petals off. Put them in freezer bags, and store them in the refrigerator. We can use them sometime."

"Fu-Fuji-sama!" She stilled, completely befuddled. "But... Ah, there is a card..."

"Is there?" He sighed, opening his door. Twenty dozen roses was a lot of roses, even for Atobe. And they were all the most beautiful shade of red. "Have that shredded, please. And get rid of all this. I can't stand the smell."

"Y-yes, sir! Right away!" 

He sighed softly, and slipped into the darkroom. He still had the rolls from the hot springs to process. He had developed the film, but he hadn't printed any pictures yet. He took a few minutes to clean his equipment, even though it couldn't possibly be dirty, and then he pulled out the negatives.

So many of these pictures were just boring landscape images. He did manage to get a few of Yuuta when Yuuta wasn't looking. 

And there were pictures of Atobe. So many pictures of Atobe, because Fuji had never had a more willing subject for his photography. There was never a time when Atobe didn't enjoy having his picture taken.

He hung the pictures to dry. He could scan the negatives of the rest, and print them from the computer, if he chose to; he had printed out the pictures of Yuuta, which, as always, failed to capture that which made his little brother so special. And he had printed a few of the pictures of Atobe.

In the dull red light of the darkroom, things tended to look quite different than they did outside. Some of these pictures were quite good. There was one of Atobe with one eye open, smirking, in bed, that he wished he had printed before the show. There was one from the car trip in that was of generally poor quality, but still, when he looked at it, he felt as if he were in the car again.

His heart felt heavy. 

He wished he had some pictures of Tezuka from this trip.

When he left the darkroom, the flowers were all blessedly gone, but their scent lingered. He sat down at his desk, and booted up his laptop. There was nothing for him to do here and no reason for him to be here. He had intended to spend the day at home, in bed. 

He poked at his computer for a bit, not really paying attention to what he was doing. He was about to put his head down and take a nap when the door opened, and Atobe swept in; he knew this was bound to happen, but he hadn't prepared for it.

"I see you have received my offering and rejected it." Atobe stood in front of his desk, and put his hands behind his back.

Fuji smiled. "It was inconvenient. There were too many of them."

"Of course," Atobe shrugged. "I'm not going to excuse my behavior, because there is no excuse. Even frustrated and angry, I should never have treated you like that. I actually prayed last night, in gratitude, that you stopped me. I can only give you my regret and apologies, and swear to you that it will never happen again."

"Mm, no, it won't," Fuji turned his eyes to his computer screen, and opened up the internet, checking his email.

Atobe looked away. "I was worried about you last night, when I realized that you had left. Did you go to your brother? Eiji?"

"Does it matter?" Fuji yawned. He had too much email, as always. It was bothersome.

"I suppose if you went to him, you wouldn't be here to be talking to me now." 

Fuji glanced over at Atobe momentarily. His tone and posture were unusual. That was bothersome, too. "I wasn't really in the mood for sex last night."

"You plan to sleep with him," Atobe smirked, looking away.

Fuji shrugged. "I don't plan on anything right now. I have this terrible headache."

Atobe flinched.

Turning his back to Atobe, Fuji sighed. "I don't want to talk about this. Just... go home."

"That's it?" There was a pause, a moment of brittle silence.

"I feel like going out to dinner tonight," Fuji sighed. "Asta. I feel like something... perfect. You can get reservations, right?"

"Naturally," Atobe replied, a thread of surprise coloring his voice.

Fuji nodded. "Late dinner. I'll be home before then to change. I didn't like the clothes you picked out yesterday."

"I'm sorry," Atobe nodded, and stepped back. "I'll look forward to it. Syuusuke..."

"Tezuka would never have done that to me, Keigo," Fuji sighed.

Atobe didn't say anything more as he left.

Fuji closed his eyes, and leaned back in his chair. He put his hand over his face, and laughed, because it wasn't at all funny. He picked up the phone, and dialed quickly. He listened to the phone drone at him, and then he heard the familiar greeting. "Sae-san, why don't you love me anymore?"

Saeki laughed loudly into the phone. "Fuji-kun, you know I love you like crazy."

"Mm, you weren't at my show last night," Fuji pouted.

There was more laughter, and the sound of a child's laughter, too. "Well, you know, Ann wanted to go, but with the baby, it's hard to get into to Tokyo for a night. We'll come soon, though, I promise. Ann wants to spend a few days with her brother, anyway."

Fuji sighed. "Tachibana-san is more important than I am, isn't he?"

"Never. Did you miss me, Fuji-kun?" 

Fuji tilted his head to the side. "Are you at the beach?"

"Yup!" Saeki was grinning, Fuji could tell. "Starting to teach the wee one to swim."

"How does Ann-chan feel about that?"

"She's very watchful," Saeki chuckled.

"I'm sure," Fuji yawned. "Mm, Sae, come to Tokyo and run off with me."

"You want me to, Fuji?" Saeki purred. "I'm not sure my wife would approve."

"As long as we let her watch, I'm _sure_ she would."

"Probably," Saeki sighed. "What's the real reason you called, Fuji?"

Fuji grinned. "Don't you think I want to have a mad affair with you?"

"You should," Saeki teased. "So are you going to spill, or are you going to tease me all afternoon?"

It sounded like Saeki's daughter was crawling all over him. It was ridiculous. Saeki had gotten so domesticated. "Even Tezuka came to my show. You should have been here."

"Indeed," Saeki sighed, and Fuji hated how knowing he sounded. "That complicates things. Or maybe it doesn't."

"Hm," Fuji dismissed. "I don't think you love me anymore."

"Love you 'til the day I die. And what about 'Keigo-kun'...?"

Fuji didn't say anything.

"You should come to Chiba, Fuji. You know you always have a place in our house."

Smiling, Fuji sighed. It was nice to have friends like this... "Your house is too crowded, Sae-kun. And anyway, Tezuka is coming on Monday."

"That should be interesting."

"Always. Anyway..."

"Yeah. Don't wait too long before calling again. Oops! Heh, Ann wants to talk to you, but..."

The phone disconnected. Fuji hung up, and laughed. 

His headache was slowly going away.

* * *

  


It felt like his head was wrapped in cotton, and he was in some sort of vacuum. Everything was so devoid of vitality. The door locking behind him sounded so loud, final. He went straight to the kitchen, and placed the containers of leftovers on the glass shelf neatly. Their refrigerator looked very sterile and neat, everything in rectangular glass dishes, or in boxes. He grabbed a bottle of flavored water before heading upstairs.

Atobe was following him with narrowed eyes. Dinner had been cordial, which was rather strange, all things considered. They had never really 'dated,' at least, as far as Fuji was concerned, but they were never _cordial_ to each other. It irritated Fuji.

It seemed longer than a night had passed where he had not slept in this bed. He slipped out of his suit coat, and tossed it aside without regard to where it would fall. Normally, Atobe would sigh, and tell him to pick it up, but today, Atobe merely bit his lip, and retrieved the garment himself.

This was intolerable.

"Could you do me a favor?" Fuji smiled, cold affection bleeding through his disdain.

"Anything," Atobe answered immediately.

"Spend the night in the guest room. I want to sleep in my own bed tonight." Fuji turned his back to Atobe, and started to unbutton his shirt.

Atobe stood perfectly still. "Just for a night?"

"Mm," Fuji rolled his shoulders around. "Why don't we leave tomorrow to tomorrow?" The room was too quiet, and Atobe was too quiet, and Fuji's headache was coming back. He stood so that Atobe could see the bruises he had on his arms and back. 

Atobe watched Fuji carefully. "Will this be your excuse to leave me and go to him?"

"It wouldn't really be an excuse, would it, Keigo?" Fuji tilted his head to the side, an air of honest confusion easily affected.

"I suppose not," Atobe sighed. "But that won't be the real reason, would it? In four years, I've never touched you in violence, have I?"

"There was one time," Fuji smiled. "There could be another."

"Do you believe that?" Atobe crossed the room, and stood directly in front of Fuji, brushing his knuckles over Fuji's cheek. "I love you, Syuusuke."

It was funny, the intensity of Atobe's eyes. Fuji had never stood opposite of him in a tennis court when he could really _play_ , but he knew those eyes well, regardless. "That's either a lie, or a non sequitur."

Atobe was annoyed, and there was a small part of Fuji that felt fear because of it, but he wasn't about to flinch. "I am sorry, you know."

"I know," Fuji sighed, and turned away. "I'm tired, Keigo."

For a moment, Atobe did not react. "May I have a goodnight kiss?"

Fuji was smiling before he had considered how to react. He turned to look into Atobe's eyes, and found the familiar challenge there. It was something that did not irritate. He leaned up, and brushed his lips over Atobe's, putting his hands on Atobe's chest. Atobe did nothing to hold him in place, or deepen the kiss. 

Licking his lips, Fuji waved his hand in Atobe's face. "Go to bed, Keigo."

"Goodnight, Syuusuke," Atobe sighed, and he left, taking the time to close the door quietly and securely.

There were times that he slept in this bed alone, but they were few over the years, and often, at those times, he did not sleep well. He did not bother doing much more than brushing his teeth, and stripping to his skin. He slipped between the silk sheets, and slid over to Atobe's side of the bed.

Their linens were changed frequently, and were scented delicately with lavender at all times. Atobe used many different products in his hair, and on his skin, and thus, his scent was most often an amalgam of carefully chosen fragrances, all of which combined to leave an airy, pleasant sensation. It was something that was easily replicated, should he ever wish to do so, but it lacked the earthy appeal of sweat.

Fuji slept, and dreamed of sweat, and snow, and when he woke up, he was left only with the lingering feeling of wanting what he had just seen preserved on film.

* * *

  


Once again, he walked through the doors of Grand Slam, but this time, it was like walking through a completely different door. There were no crowds outside or in, and he was able to actually see the displays. An overly friendly girl with very bright lipstick approached him, but he demurred, and went into the main showcase room.

The photographs were mounted on cardboard, and covered in thin glass. They were haphazardly arranged on the walls, some so low, he had to crouch to get a good look, but most at about eye level. The main pieces were larger, and the lighting of the room was designed to draw attention.

Tezuka examined each piece carefully, slowly. Somehow, he had an image of Fuji coming up and putting his hands on Tezuka's back as Tezuka was considering a piece. They would start by talking about photography; it would be easy.

He spent over an hour just staring at the various pieces, but Fuji never showed up. There were pieces that were of Atobe, some of which were very... risqué. There were pictures of friends of Fuji's, that used to be his friends, too. Some of the subjects were clearly just candidly captured, and some were models. Tezuka didn't really know much about photography. He knew only enough to know that some photos were interesting to look at, and some were not. Fuji's photographs were very interesting, but he would have thought that about anything Fuji did.

It would be nice to have Fuji with him now, to talk him through these, and point out the little things he was undoubtedly missing. He became irritated with himself; he should have made a more definitive plan with Fuji, but he allowed himself to be carried away by Fuji's playfulness. Reluctantly, he approached the girl at the reception desk, who smiled too widely as soon as he came near.

"Can I help you, sir?"

He tried to affect a less stern appearance. "I'd like to see Fuji if I could."

She blinked, and he got the impression he misspoke somehow. "Fuji- _sama_ is in his studio, in the middle of a shoot. He _cannot_ be disturbed."

He bit his lip. "He asked me to come to see him. Is there any way you could get him a message, let him know that Tezuka is here?"

She blinked several times in rapid succession, blanching. "Tezuka... Tezuka..." She shuffled some papers around on her neat desk, and pulled out a small, neat piece of notepaper with Fuji's handwriting on it. She turned red. "Ah, Tezuka-san, I didn't realize... Please, ah, come with me..."

She shoved the paper back under the stack of brochures, so Tezuka didn't get a chance to see what was written on it. She led him back to a discreet door, and she knocked softly, once, before opening it for him. She held the door open for him, but did not follow him through.

The room inside was much larger than he expected. The walls were all painted a rough black; to the right, and far back, there was a large desk, made of dark wood, and a door with a red unlit light bulb above it; to the left, Fuji was taking pictures of a slim, beautiful man wearing nothing but a pair of very tight jeans that hung low on his hips, who was surrounded by filmy white silk and flowers painted silver.

Fuji looked over his shoulder when Tezuka entered, but he did little more than smirk to acknowledge his presence. Tezuka did not want to interrupt him at his work, so he slipped into the shadows by the door, where he found himself shoulder to shoulder with someone who looked vaguely familiar.

"Tezuka-san," the man nodded, returning his gaze to the model. He was tall, with jet-black hair, neatly cut over his eyes, and broad shoulders, but it took Tezuka a moment to place him. It was really only when he took another look at the model that he put it together.

"Sanada-san," Tezuka nodded. Astonishingly, the slim young man who had Fuji's attention was Yukimura. Tezuka remembered them both from junior high, and it was a bit odd to see them now, older. Of course, they were all older, but it was easy to forget that.

Fuji was wearing a white shirt that was much too big for him, and khaki cargo pants. He moved around, cat-like, bare foot, taking pictures every few seconds. He switched between three cameras he had slung around his neck. It looked like the two of them were just having fun, like they were playing a game, really, but Fuji was definitely looking for something specific from his model. 

"Is that Tezuka-kun?" Yukimura asked, slumping slightly, seemingly to showcase his body. He put his hands in his hair, and pouted. "How interesting! We're used to seeing Atobe-kun, aren't we, but this is a nice change of pace... It's good when old friends reconnect, isn't it, Fuji-kun?"

Laughing, Fuji winked. "All depends on what you mean by 'reconnect,' Yukimura-kun."

"Fuji-kun has a dirty mind," Yukimura sighed. "That's ok; that's one of the reasons we like him." 

Sanada snorted softly, almost inaudibly, but there was gentleness to his expression. 

"Good luck at Wimbledon, Tezuka-kun," Yukimura smiled. "I'm so jealous. I always wanted to play on the lawn. And you're an old man now..."

Fuji shook his head. "We're only twenty-six, Yukimura-kun. Don't make it sound like we're ready to enter the old folks' home just yet."

"Twenty-six is young for a photographer, or a writer, or a teacher, but it's old for a tennis player, or a model," Yukimura sighed. He slipped his thumbs under the waistband of his jeans. "There's only so much time for anything. You have to enjoy every minute of what you have."

Sanada nodded seriously at Yukimura's words, his gaze unblinking as he watched Yukimura's every move.

"Tezuka still has one good run left in him. Don't you?" Fuji looked over his shoulder with a smile that brought back a thousand memories. 

"With luck," Tezuka replied.

Fuji laughed. "Well, don't be careless, Captain. People will be watching."

"Captain... Mm, been a long time, and yet..." Yukimura winked at Sanada, and Fuji's quick camera caught it. "So when do you leave for England, Tezuka-san? Shouldn't you be there already?"

"I'll be there in a week; that will be plenty of time." Sanada turned to glace at Tezuka for just a moment, but Tezuka couldn't read his expression at all.

"This must be old hat for you now," Yukimura sighed. "You and Fuji-kun, and that little brat Echizen. I'm so jealous! Fuji-kun?"

"Mm?" Fuji grinned.

"These are the most uncomfortable jeans on the whole planet. And I swear to all that is good, they make me look fatter than a hippo. How much longer until I can take them off?" Yukimura pouted, his arms akimbo, and once again, Fuji's camera caught it all.

"I have no objection to you taking them off now, Yukimura-kun, you know that," Fuji winked, stepped aside for a moment to change the film in one of the cameras.

"Ooh, interesting..." Yukimura laughed, and he put his hands over the buttons in the front. "What do you think, mm, Genichirou? Should I take off this horrible thing?"

Sanada lowered his chin, and narrowed his eyes, but that only got a laugh from Yukimura. 

"Every teenager is going to want those jeans in a few weeks when these ads go out, Yukimura-kun," Fuji snapped picture after picture as Yukimura ever so slowly undid the first button of the jeans. 

"We are contributing to an evil business, Fuji-kun," Yukimura sighed.

"True," Fuji shrugged, utterly unconcerned. "But it pays for our artistic endeavors."

"Indeed," Yukimura shrugged. "Saw your show. Very nice."

"It was mediocre at best," Fuji corrected.

"Depends," Yukimura finished undoing another button, and pushed the jeans down a bit more on his hips. It was clear he wasn't wearing anything under the jeans. "Maybe you just need a new muse." He winked at Tezuka.

Tezuka crossed his arms over his chest, and narrowed his eyes. His cheeks felt warm, but he didn't think it was obvious. Fuji laughed. 

"We'd better stop, Yukimura-kun, before your handsome lover grabs you and runs off with my best model." Fuji turned and nodded to Sanada, who was looking a bit peeved. "May I borrow your hands for a moment, Sanada-san?"

After some hesitation, Sanada did step forward, his hands at his sides uncertainly.

"Come here, step behind Yukimura-san... Please, put one hand here, right above the opening of his jeans. Good. And put your other hand here, right over his heart. Ah, that's perfect, really... Just let me...." He kneeled down before them, and lined up his shot, but he didn't start snapping pictures. "Ah... Tezuka, could you please... that light over there, could you angle it away from the subject a bit...?"

Tezuka moved forward jerkily, wanting to quickly comply with Fuji's instructions, but not entirely sure what to do. The light in question was adjustable, so he moved it around, trying to keep the light steady until he got Fuji's approval. 

"Ah, more to the left... a bit up... that's good, just a bit more... Perfect, leave it there. Good!" He took several pictures from all three cameras , and then he sat back and smiled. "That should do it. Thank you for your efforts, Yukimura-kun, Sanada-san."

Yukimura leaned back, and kissed Sanada's chin. "Love you... I'll be right back, just gotta peel these evil things off."

"If you wanted to stay here to do that and let Sanada-san help you..." Fuji offered, teasingly.

"No," Sanada replied quickly, over Yukimura's laughs.

"Just give me a minute," Yukimura smiled, grabbing hold of Sanada's hand as he walked away, letting it fall out of his grip loosely.

Sanada watched him go with rapt attention. Fuji gathered up his cameras, and few rolls of film, and he smiled at Tezuka challengingly. "Don't hide back there forever, Tezuka. Come out and say hello."

Tezuka stepped closer carefully, keeping his arms close to his body. He looked Fuji in the eye, and smiled just a bit. "Fuji. Thank you for inviting me."

Fuji shrugged, and turned around. "You remember Sanada-san, don't you? He's teaching at Rikkaidai now, coaching both the kendo team and the tennis team. Interesting, mm?"

From the tone of voice, and the way that Fuji wasn't looking at him, Tezuka could tell that this was some sort of game, and there would therefore be a correct way to respond, and an incorrect way. He had no way to tell what would be the correct way, so he did his best to ignore Fuji's tone, and turned to Sanada. "That must be quite rewarding."

"Indeed," Sanada replied, still watching the door that Yukimura had gone through. "It is rather time consuming, however. I do enjoy working with students. I imagine, however, that your line of 'work' is more rewarding."

Fuji was smirking. Tezuka could only see just the corner of his lips, as he was still facing the other way, mostly. "That greatly depends. There is a certain satisfaction in being able to do something that you love..." He watched Fuji from the corner of his eye as he spoke; he appeared as if he was considering some papers, but he was listening to Tezuka intently. "But it's not quite how you would think it is. There is a great deal of extraneous annoyances. And..."

Sanada turned to give Tezuka his full attention. Fuji was clinging to his papers rather tightly. 

He lowered his gaze. "It's something you will want to do for far longer than you will be able to."

"I believe that," Sanada replied, watching Tezuka sharply. "But certainly, you've had more time than most, mm?"

"True," Tezuka sighed. "But there's never enough time." 

"You're speaking as if your career was already over," Sanada pointed out.

"It is," Tezuka shrugged.

Fuji was watching him closely. Tezuka lowered his head a bit more. 

"Thank **all** the gods, great and small, I'm out of those horrid jeans," Yukimura strolled out, looking less like sex symbol, and more like an average guy. He went up to Sanada and put his arms around Sanada's waist. "Are we ready?"

Sanada kissed Yukimura gently on the lips, twice, and he smiled. Sanada's face looked different when he was looking at Yukimura. Tezuka wondered if he looked something like that when he was looking at Fuji; if he did, Fuji couldn't have any doubt about his feelings, but maybe he didn't...

There was a flash of light, and Yukimura laughed while Sanada blushed. "Fuji-kun, stop that."

Fuji raised his hands, smiling. "It's private, I promise. But you can't be that beautiful right in front of me and expect me to ignore it..."

Sanada cleared his throat and took Yukimura's hand. "I think we will take our leave now. It was good to see you again, Tezuka-san. Fuji-san."

Yukimura waved energetically to Fuji as Sanada dragged him off. "Bye! Thanks again, Fuji-kun!"

Fuji waved goodbye to Yukimura until he was out of sight, and then he smiled at Tezuka. "Alone at last."

Tezuka cleared his throat and looked away, affected by the tone of Fuji's voice, so calculating. "I had a chance to view your work. It's quite..."

"Did you like it?" Fuji laughed silently, and stepped behind his desk. "Was there anything in particular that stood out to you?"

Tezuka drifted over to the desk, letting Fuji keep the space between them. "I did. I liked... many of them. You capture... intimacy very well."

"Does that surprise you?" Fuji smirked, watching Tezuka from behind his bangs. "I like to photograph things that are beautiful, and fleeting."

"Is intimacy fleeting?" Tezuka wondered.

"Sometimes," Fuji sighed.

Tezuka looked away. "I suppose. But not always. Moments can add up to something more, too."

"Mm," Fuji replied noncommittally. 

"Sanada and Yukimura. Oishi and Kikumaru. Atobe..." Tezuka balled his hands into fists and closed his eyes. "It seems people don't mind being intimate with your camera."

Fuji laughed, loudly. "You have no idea. Let me show you..." He turned around to the shelf behind him, and pulled out a large, black, leather-bound album. Tezuka hesitantly walked around to stand next to him, to look at the album with him. 

The pages inside were black archive paper, and the photos were glossy, mostly black and white, and attached with small black photo corners. The book was neatly and lovingly put together in an old fashioned way. Fuji flipped through pictures of Oishi and Kikumaru holding hands, and then Kikumaru kissing Oishi's cheek, through pictures of Atobe in bed, wearing only an oxford cloth shirt, through pictures of friends of Atobe's from school, plastered over each other, over pictures of Saeki with Tachibana's sister in his lap, until he reached a full page picture of Sanada and Yukimura kissing. Neither of them appeared to wearing any clothes, but there wasn't much visible beyond their shoulders. Yukimura had a faint blush staining his cheeks, and Sanada was oblivious to anything other than the man in his arms.

"Do you see?" Fuji ghosted his fingers just above the surface of the picture. "It's beautiful, isn't it?"

"It's..." Tezuka wanted to look away. This was... "private."

"Do you think my art is smutty, Tezuka?" Fuji was clearly amused. He turned his attention back to the picture, his expression softening. "It's not smut, though. Even if I were to photograph them having sex, it wouldn't be smut. Look at them... look at what they feel. This moment, this perfect moment, when they just touch each other like this, when they first meet each other, connect, and the whole world disappears, and they are the universe, them, and this feeling they can't contain in one body, this _need_ , to be close, to join with this person that you love more than anything else in life..." Fuji smiled bitterly. "This is the best feeling in the world. This is the most beautiful feeling any person can feel."

Tezuka wasn't looking at the picture at all anymore. He watched Fuji, and the way this image absorbed all of his attention. "I remember."

Fuji shook his head, not laughing, but looking as if he should be. "That's good, because you took that away from me." He closed the book abruptly. 

Tezuka put his hand on Fuji's shoulder. "Syuusuke..."

"Are you sorry?" Fuji looked Tezuka in the eye, and Tezuka nearly flinched. "Is that what you are about to say? How sorry you are, for leaving me. But that doesn't change anything, does it, Tezuka?"

He squeezed Fuji's shoulder lightly, needing to hold on for as long as Syuusuke permitted it. "What would change things, Syuusuke? Because I need... I need to be able to change things, if I can."

Fuji ran his hand through his hair, and looked away. "Pride. I guess it's just mine now."

"Mm?" Tezuka furrowed his brow.

Fuji smiled brightly in the most infuriating way he could. "Oh, nothing, something Inui said... Is your career really over, Tezuka? Couldn't you have a surgery? Fix it?"

Tezuka's hand slid down Fuji's arm, but he was unwilling to break contact entirely. "I could, but what good would it do? I'm playing eighteen-year old boys who can run circles around me. My time is up."

"That seems so final," Fuji sighed.

Tezuka shrugged. "It is." Fuji stared at the cover of his album, and Tezuka brushed his hand over Fuji's arm. Something occurred to him. "Is this my shirt?"

Fuji pulled away defensively, looking truly annoyed. "Of course not! I took it seven years ago. It's mine now."

He couldn't help but smile softly. "It looks good on you. Everything looks good on you."

Fuji turned away in irritation. "I didn't wear it because of you. I always wear it. Even before you left. It's comfortable."

"I like that you wear it, for whatever reason," Tezuka offered softly.

There was quiet. Fuji held himself tightly. "I don't want it to be like this."

Tezuka leaned forward, waiting for Fuji to continue.

"I don't want... _us_... if we can't be... we should be friends, shouldn't we?" Fuji looked over his shoulder at Tezuka.

He would have liked to ask for more, but he couldn't deny the look in Fuji's eyes. "We are, aren't we?"

Fuji watched him carefully for a long moment. "Can I take your picture, Tezuka?"

Tezuka blinked. "Excuse me?"

Laughing, Fuji turned around, and grabbed his cameras. "Let me just change film, and set up. Why don't you unbutton your shirt?"

Fuji was moving around, busily, humming softly. He winked at Tezuka over his shoulder, and opened a drawer, pulling out film. His hands moved swiftly and efficiently. He bundled all the film from Yukimura's shoot in one plastic bag, and pulled out new film, which he loaded with equal precision. It took him hardly any time at all. Tezuka had always been in awe of Fuji's hands, and their quick, elegant movements. Hands like that were capable of using a racquet and the wind to make the ball do whatever he wanted. It hadn't really occurred to him to think of the other amazing things Fuji could do with his hands. Of course, he knew _intimately_ some of what Fuji's hands were capable of, but he was naïve, and he didn't think of those skills as related to anything else. 

He watched Fuji, still rooted to the same spot, as Fuji pulled down the long ropes of silver flowers, and tossed them aside. From a cabinet, he got blue and red plastic sheets to slip in over the lights, coloring the room softly, intimately. He grabbed big, fluffy, faux fur covered pillows from behind the screen, and he tossed them on the ground. He smiled at Tezuka.

"C'mon. These will be private, I promise. Indulge me."

The way that was phrased, Tezuka was more and less inclined to acquiesce. He walked slowly over to where Fuji was waiting for him. "Private?"

Fuji's laugh was beautiful, alluring, and disquieting, just a little. "Don't worry. I don't do pornography. Just let me take your picture."

Tezuka bent his head down. There was never any real question as to whether he would let Fuji have his way; he always let Fuji have his way. He crossed his arms over his chest, and sighed. "What do you want me to do?"

Shaking his head, Fuji sighed. "I don't want you to pose. Just look at me while I take your picture." He raised the camera to his face, and snapped a pic. "Look at me, Tezuka."

Tezuka couldn't meet Fuji's gaze for long, but when he turned his face away, blushing, he heard the shutter fwish faster. "You don't have to call me that."

"What should I call you then?" Fuji had his own way of flirting. It was challenging, and it made Tezuka's blood boil. Fuji always knew how to excite Tezuka.

"You used to call me something else..." Tezuka covered his face with his hand, his fingers splayed out so he could still see Fuji.

Fuji cocked his head to the side. "Used to... lots of things are used to, though, aren't they? We can't go back to used to, Tezuka. We have to go forward, until we reach a new way of being together. Don't you think?"

Tezuka sighed. "As usual, I can't argue with you. But I can't help it if I think of you as Syuusuke..."

There was silence for a moment not captured by film. "Tezuka... take off your shirt?"

He looked up, alarmed, to find Fuji laughing at him silently. "What?"

"Please?" Fuji smiled with sarcastic sweetness. "It's just for me..."

He closed his eyes. It was cold here, more so as he slowly opened his shirt. Fuji was photographing him as he unbuttoned his shirt; that was either really hot, or really embarrassing, and he was too confused to know which was which. He finished undoing all the buttons, and he hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of his jeans. 

Fuji chuckled deeply. "That's beautiful... so beautiful... slip your shirt off?"

He slipped the shirt off the right shoulder, but he found that he didn't want to slip it all the way off. He knew, of course, that he most likely would, that he wouldn't be able to refuse Fuji. It was foolish, because Fuji had seen him naked at the hot springs, but somehow, it felt like Fuji was really _looking_ at him now, and he felt a bit ashamed.

The camera was whirling like mad, and then it stopped. "Tezuka. Let me see your scars."

His face flamed brightly, and Fuji captured every second of it. His shirt fell to the floor without a sound. Fuji circled around him, sometimes softly directing him to move his arm forward, or put his hand there. Fuji's fingers brushed over his skin. "You are beautiful, Tezuka."

"Flawed," Tezuka sighed, his throat raw for some reason. He couldn't look at Syuusuke.

"Perfection is boring," Fuji teased.

"You are perfect," Tezuka countered.

Fuji was still for a moment. "Don't call me that. That makes me untouchable. We are all of us, only human. Our flaws define us. There is intrinsic beauty in flesh that is healing itself, don't you think?"

Tezuka kept his eyes tightly shut. "I suppose I am fixated on the weakness they represent."

Fuji traced the fine, very straight white lines marking Tezuka's skin. "But isn't the real measure of a man's strength in how he overcomes his limitations?"

That was certainly true, but it didn't mean very much, depending on the scale one considered. "Some limitations can't be overcome."

"Does it bother you so much? To not be able to play?" Fuji laughed, but it didn't sound like he was amused. "Tennis is a game, Tezuka. You should stop when it's no longer fun."

"It's always fun." Tezuka lifted his face to look Fuji in the eye.

Fuji stood still for a moment, his eyes wide. He reached out and took Tezuka's hand. "Sit down." He kneeled down with Tezuka, pulling the pillows around to help Tezuka get comfortable. "You don't change, do you? That's... it's heartening. Tezuka... When did you plan on talking to me, if we hadn't meet at the hot springs? Did you have a plan?"

He held onto Fuji's hand as long as he could, grateful that Fuji wasn't pulling away from him. "When I got to Tokyo, I was going to look up Oishi. I was going to ask him about meeting with you."

"Why wouldn't you just call me yourself? Why go through Oishi?" Fuji turned his hand over, so their palms were aligned.

Tezuka looked down at their joined hands. He used to take this contact for granted. "I was afraid you were angry with me."

Fuji laughed. "Were you ever angry with me?"

"Yes," Tezuka sighed. There was no reason for him to lie. "But I became so that my loneliness was more powerful than anything else I felt."

Fuji pulled his hand away, and backed off. He lifted his camera to his face again, and started to take more pictures. "Would you open your jeans?"

He was past blushing now, past resisting. He did as he was told, and he leaned back on his hands, aware that Fuji was photographing him, but if he closed his eyes, he could forget that there was this space between them. The air was cold but his skin was hot, and he felt pleasantly trapped. He looked up at Fuji, and he could tell from the way that Fuji looked back at him that his gaze was raw. 

"Take your jeans off, Tezuka," Fuji ordered softly.

He didn't move at all, he just watched Fuji closely, narrowing his eyes.

Fuji laughed. "Would you feel more comfortable if I took off my shirt? I don't mind... but take off your jeans first."

His throat was dry, parched. He couldn't think clearly enough to voice an objection. There was something wrong with everything about this, and yet, he knew he wouldn't be able to resist Fuji, not anymore. He wanted, more than he ever wanted anything, to be able to take Fuji into his arms and call him his, but he got to his knees and slipped off his jeans and boxers instead. He sat down on the soft fur of the pillows, and kicked his clothes away.

The camera whirled and shuttered. 

Fuji laughed quietly, reaching out to put his hand on Tezuka's thigh. "You are beautiful, Tezuka. Your body... It's so like you."

Tezuka licked his lips. "It's just a tool. It's not me."

"It's like you, though," Fuji sighed, setting down his camera. He pulled Tezuka's old shirt off like it was a t-shirt. "It's beautiful; it begs to be touched."

He would have liked to return Fuji's flirtations, but he was drenched in cold. He reached out, and brushed his fingers over the fading bruises on Fuji's arms. They were sickly yellow, indistinct, and barely still there, but they were flaws under Fuji's perfect skin, and they spoke of pain. "What happened?"

"Oh," Fuji shrugged, unable to maintain an amused appearance, his eyes on Tezuka's fingers on his skin. "Those. I thought they were gone by now."

"Did he do this to you?" Tezuka's jaw locked. He would kill Atobe.

Fuji picked up Tezuka's hand, and ran his fingers over Tezuka's fingers. "It's... Don't worry about it." He dropped Tezuka's hand and picked up his camera. He was at a good angle to take pictures of all of Tezuka. He only snapped a few shots before he reached out and removed Tezuka's glasses, a slow, intimate gesture.

Tezuka closed his eyes and looked away. "Why?"

"It's your fault, of course," Fuji laughed. "Lift your leg... like that. Good." He kept taking pictures.

"Syuusuke..." Tezuka slumped, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Are you sorry, Tezuka? Do you want to apologize? Again?" Fuji chuckled. "It's not really your fault, you know. It's not my fault, either. This sort of thing happens between people. The past is the past."

Tezuka reached out and put his hand on Syuusuke's cheek. "I can't accept that the only place we can be together is in the past. I still love you, Syuusuke. I can't give up."

"Don't," Fuji replied quickly, hoarsely. He held Tezuka's gaze, and then he pulled away. He kept his eyes down. Shaking his head, he started to laugh. "Oh. This is getting complicated again. Or is it the opposite? I just know... you still... affect me."

Tezuka shifted over, and pulled Fuji into his arms. "It's only fair. You affect me."

Fuji smiled, and rested his head on Tezuka's shoulder. "Good. Need to keep you at the top of your game, you know."

"You always do," Tezuka smiled affectionately.

Fuji sighed. "You always give me the best smiles when I can't capture them. You just don't play fair, Tezuka."

He brushed his fingers over Fuji's face. "Can't. I need you too much."

Fuji leaned up quickly, and kissed Tezuka's lips. "Hey, let's go to an amusement park. Remember when we were going to go, in junior high? We never went, did we?"

"We did," Tezuka sighed. "But you asked me about when we should go in the club room, and Kikumaru and Kawamura joined us. We didn't stay long."

Fuji laughed. "Oh, that's right. Actually, we met Oishi and Inui there, too, and you were the only one who left early. We didn't even see you go." He smiled, and took Tezuka's hand. "But this time, it will just be two of us."

Tezuka smiled. There was nothing he would deny Fuji right now, even if Fuji asked him to leave and never come back. "Fine."

Fuji grabbed the shirt that Tezuka wore to the gallery. "I'll wear this. Let me get you something to wear..."

"I could wear..." Tezuka reached for the shirt that Fuji had been wearing.

Fuji snatched it away from his reach, and smiled coquettishly. "Nope, that's mine. I have clothes here. Just give me a minute."

Tezuka smiled, shaking his head. He got his boxers and jeans back. He couldn't believe he had let Fuji... but it was Fuji, so it was all right.

It was always all right when it was Fuji.

* * *

  


The entire secretarial pools of the thirtieth to fortieth floors were scurrying. Atobe slammed the door to his office, and threw the stack of papers he was holding on his desk. These small actions did nothing to mollify him, though they did frighten the sheepish looking man who was waiting for him. He didn't bother to acknowledge Oishi's presence; he needed to bleed off some of this anger first.

He paced his office a few times, tuning out Oishi's pathetic hemming and hawing. He picked up his phone and stabbed the button for his father's secretary. She answered on the first ring, and began by apologizing, which only served to increase his ire. He snapped at her, and peppered his tirade with a few choice words he learned specifically from his father, and then slammed the phone down.

There was never peace in the office when both Atobes were in, even though there were seven floors separating them. Things only seemed to get worse, too. His father had berated him before the board for a mistake he didn't make. He would track down the person who had made the mistake, and deal with it, but he would not allow his father to question his staff or nose into his business. He had to maintain some dignity as a man, or else what would be the point?

He scowled at Oishi. "And what do you want?"

Oishi squirmed, actually squirmed. "Ah, I'm sorry, this wasn't a good time, but I need to pick up the, ah, keys for the, ah, house in Greece, and I'm sorry for my timing, I wish I could..."

"Oh, shut up," Atobe sighed. He pulled open his lower left drawer, and pulled out a large manila envelope. He checked inside just to be sure he had the right one, and he tossed it across his desk. "There. I should get a new job as a travel agent. I suppose you've spoken to him."

Oishi picked up the envelope and peeked inside. He kept his eyes on the contents as he considered Atobe's statement. "You would be correct to suppose that."

Atobe narrowed his eyes. "And like the good little subordinate you are, you will be doing everything you can to get the happy couple back together again, won't you?"

Oishi's glare was impressive enough, which wasn't too surprising, probably, though Atobe had always assumed Oishi's students could get away with murder. "Eiji and I are preparing for our sabbatical. What Fuji and Tezuka do is their own business. Though, I do hope that they can both be happy."

"There's only one way that will happen," Atobe sneered. "I can't blame you for wanting it, I suppose. Nor can I blame him..." He lost all of his fire. Coldness crept up on him. "He didn't come home last night until two in the morning. He looked... pleased with himself. And he had this ridiculous stuffed bear." Atobe shook his head. He had tried to set up a nice, semi-romantic dinner for the two of them, but he had ended up spending the evening worrying about Fuji. He would have given anything to have been able to hold Fuji in his arms, but he was relegated to the guest bedroom again.

Oishi shifted in his seat. "Atobe-san, I'm sorry. Truly. If it were at all possible, I would like for all three of you to find happiness."

"I'm not interested in that sort of arrangement," Atobe sniffed regally. "And truthfully, I should probably let him go. But I can't." He eyed Oishi critically. "You are his friend. You have to admit, I've been good for him. How can I win him?"

"He's not an arcade prize, Atobe-san," Oishi informed wearily. "Love isn't a game. You _can't_ win him. You have to do what you can to make him happy, and hope for the best."

"That's so cute," Atobe drawled, rolling his eyes. "But this is a game; _everything_ in life is a game. Syuusuke understands that."

"Fuji knows all about love," Oishi quietly corrected. "You _can't_ win him. You have to be worthy of his love."

Atobe mused. "Or, more to the point, _worthier_. Interesting. Thank you."

Oishi bit his lip. "That wasn't advice, Atobe-san. I wasn't offering you a tip. He..."

Atobe stood up. "I'm sorry, Oishi, but I have a very full schedule. Please see yourself out, and enjoy your time in Greece."

Oishi stood up slowly. He bowed to Atobe, and stated for the door, but he stopped halfway there. "You _really_ can't win him, Atobe-san. If you do want advice, mine would be that you need to let him go. Maybe he will leave you, and maybe he won't, but if you try to force him to choose, or to stay with you, you will lose him for certain."

"Just go already," Atobe growled. Leave it to Oishi to hand out platitudes. What would a man who has effectively married his childhood sweetheart know about love?

He would win this game. He had no other choice.


	7. Part Six

He had considered firing his driver twice before, for being overly chatty once when he had wanted to be alone with Fuji, and once for nearly getting in an accident. He liked to drive, no matter how many comments he got about his accident, but going to and from work was boring, under the best of circumstances, and it was nice to be able to do something other than think about traffic.

Today, though, he would _definitely_ fire his driver. Thirty-five minutes from the office to home in the middle of the afternoon was completely absurd. The man should know about relevant construction delays, and adjust his route. 

At least he had an excuse to not go back to the office.

Coming home in the middle of the day was always fun, though, because he had so few opportunities to surprise Fuji. Fuji was highly surprise resistant, and would hide his reaction on the few times that he was taken aback. He opened the door slowly, in case he might actually be able to catch Fuji unawares.

He placed his attaché case down next to the door, and slipped his shoes off. The first floor of their apartment had a loft ceiling, and floor to ceiling windows, which Fuji had painted an open, abstract design on so that, in the afternoon light, their otherwise somewhat cold and austere living space would be streaked with messy splashes of color. The predominant colors of the decorating were black, silver, and a deep mahogany, so the colors sometimes seemed like a child had finger-painted on a Magritte. 

Stopping just before a splotch of blue, he smiled. Fuji was on his tiptoes, rearranging their bookshelf, again. He was wearing the jeans with the tears in the back of the thighs, and white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The fabric of the shirt was smooth and shimmered in the light, illuminated with a streak of blue.

Atobe smiled. _Worthier_ , he reminded himself. 

He approached Fuji quietly, but he knew that Fuji knew that he was there. The way he was not looking in Atobe's direction was just too purposeful. Still, it was just as Atobe wanted.

Slipping behind Fuji, he put his hands on his lover's hips, and gently kissed his neck. His hair was getting long again, and the tendrils were teasing his nose as he tasted Fuji's skin.

"You're home early," Fuji sighed. "Keigo..."

He wrapped his arms around Fuji's waist, and sighed against his skin. "Are you going to ask me to stop? Please, Syuusuke... Miss you." He rubbed his nose against the skin over Fuji's jugular, and rubbed a hand over the layers of fabric over Fuji's hip.

"Mm..." Fuji's eyes slipped closed, and he wavered between leaning into Atobe's embrace, and out of it. "I have to go in a few minutes... Eiji and Oishi's thing..."

Atobe refrained from scowling. "I was going to go with you, as I remember, but I suppose that's not necessary now, hm? Still." Fuji was always fashionably late, so Atobe did not take that protest as a request to cease what he was doing. He slipped a hand up Fuji's shirt, just to touch his belly.

Fuji raised his hand to brush his fingers into Atobe's hair. "You're... not trying to be difficult, are you?"

"Difficult?" Atobe asked with disdain. "Is this difficult?" He slid his hand over to pop open the button on Fuji's jeans. He turned Fuji slightly, kissing his adam's apple wetly. "Do you want me to stop, Syuusuke? Tell me to stop." He held his hand still, just at the opening to Fuji's jeans. "I'll stop if you want me to. Just say it, say no..."

Fuji turned to Atobe a bit more, holding onto Atobe's shoulders. His eyes were closed, and he said nothing intelligible. 

Atobe smirked, and pressed Fuji against the bookcase, and unzipped his jeans, pushing one hand down the front, and one down the back. He kissed and licked his way across Fuji's collarbone, and back again, then up neck, his chin, pausing before his lips. He caressed Fuji's ass from the back, and just cupped him from the front. "Open your eyes."

Fuji blinked a few times sleepily, and then met Atobe's gaze.

He looked into those blue-green eyes for a moment, and then smirked, catching Fuji's mouth, parting his lips, tasting him. "Missed you," he reiterated softly against Fuji's lips.

"Your fault," Fuji dismissed, moving his hands distractedly over Atobe's shoulders.

"Of course," he grabbed another kiss, and then went down to his knees. "Let me make it up to you."

He pushed Fuji's jeans down his thighs, giving himself more room to work. He knew that Fuji never wore underwear with these jeans; they were one of Atobe's favorite pairs. He massaged Fuji's ass from the back, and took his time in the front, luxuriating in the scent, the texture, the taste of Fuji, the way Fuji's fingers would dig into his hair, fingernails on his scalp, when he sucked on that place between his cock and his balls, the way Fuji would moan if he licked his balls just right, the way Fuji would shiver when he licked the tip of his cock like it was a popsicle... He knew this well, this pleasure, knew how to give it, made sure that every touch, every taste, every breath was used to maximum effectivity... He knew the exact moment _before_ Fuji gasped, and clutched at his jacket, the exact moment _before_ Fuji shuddered, and came, and he drank and sucked and nursed out every last drop, because this was an elixir to him, this salty, bitter brew that he knew like no one else.

He leaned back on his haunches, and pulled up Fuji's jeans, carefully tucking him back in before zipping him up again, buttoning him up, and then he kissed Fuji's stomach under his bellybutton, kissed his bellybutton, slid his arms up Fuji's always too-loose shirt, and pulled him into his arms, and kissed him, hard, almost brutally, because when Fuji was this pliant, he always loved just a touch of roughness, the illusion of being overpowered.

Fuji blearily smiled at Atobe, and shook his head. "Complications..."

He caressed Fuji's back loosely. "Doesn't have to be."

"Mm..." Fuji put his cheek against Atobe's shoulder, and then pushed away. "Going now. Might be back late."

"Thought the 'Golden Pair' had an early flight," Atobe commented, a bit too sharply to be offhanded.

Fuji shrugged, grinning at Atobe. "Maybe they do; I've forgotten. Bye, Keigo," he waved, smiling.

Atobe narrowed his eyes. "Later, Syuusuke."

Fuji was laughing as he went out the door.

* * *

  


They had the private room in Kawamura sushi set aside for their use - tables of the best, freshest sushi, pots of steaming green tea, and good companionship.

Tezuka held his cup of tea in front of his mouth, defensively, his eyes darting to the door every few seconds. Oishi and Kikumaru were at the head of the table; Kikumaru was feeding Oishi, and trying to get him to eat some wasabi. The room was filled with people that Tezuka used to consider close friends, but he felt completely detached from them now. Momoshiro had a child, a rambunctious, monkey-like boy who was climbing all over his father. Tezuka had no idea Momoshiro had a child, and this boy was old enough to be climbing all around like that.

With the exception of Oishi, Tezuka had no idea what was going on with any of them, and he only had gotten in touch with Oishi this week. He sipped his tea, and watched the door for Fuji.

Kikumaru had blown off the fact that Fuji was late, but it bothered Tezuka. He wanted Fuji to be with him.

The room was loud, as a room of reasonable size got when filled with people. Tezuka hadn't actually realized how much he had been isolated himself from his home until now. He had just about nothing to say to anyone about any topic. There shouldn't have been such a huge gulf between them, but enough time had passed that they might as well have been speaking different languages; Tezuka had no idea what any of them were talking about, and besides a few perfunctory comments about Echizen, they had nothing to talk to him about, either.

He would have made a discreet exit, but he was still waiting for Fuji. Fuji had definitely said he would be here today, so he knew that Fuji would be here. Fuji was reliable.

There was a general air of joviality, which made it easier to sit back and be quiet. He ate slowly and quietly, and kept his eye on the door. Still, when Fuji did appear, looking somewhat rumpled and out of breath, Tezuka was completely surprised.

Fuji kissed Kikumaru's cheek, and patted Oishi on the head, making some excuse for his lateness. Kawamura asked about Atobe, but Fuji brushed the question aside, nabbing a piece of wasabi sushi as he made his way to Tezuka's side. He sat down, but he didn't immediately greet Tezuka, busy teasing Momoshiro's son. 

He just turned to smile at Tezuka, and then started to fill his plate.

It was like he had had cotton in his ears, and everything was now clear. He became aware, not only that everyone around him was chatting, but _what_ they were saying. They kept asking Fuji about Atobe, but occasionally, Fuji's hand would brush against his.

He and Kaidou got into a discussion about European economic policies and how they affected world politics. It was a good diversion, since Kikumaru had come over to thank Fuji for the loan of Atobe's house in Greece, which somehow seemed to necessitate teasing Fuji about what he had to do to gain Atobe's acceptance.

Tezuka's hands were balled up into fists in his lap. These were people he had grown up with, people he had learned with, people who knew them. _Them_. It was maddening.

Oishi sat down next to him, and smiled at him. Kikumaru jumped away from Fuji, and put his arms around Oishi. They were going to have to leave soon, and the party reached that awkward moment when it would have been convenient to just be able to stand up and tell everyone to get out. Oishi shook his hand and wished him luck at Wimbledon. Kikumaru kissed Fuji on the mouth, and Oishi laughed, and dragged him away.

They left to cheers, and Tezuka thought that it might now be over, but Kawamura told everyone that they were welcome to stay as long as they liked.

He might have sighed, because Fuji put his hand on top of Tezuka's. "Are you busy?"

Tezuka looked directly into Fuji's eyes. "Of course not."

Fuji smiled. "I was hoping to monopolize more of your time."

People were watching, but Tezuka ignored them. "It's yours, then."

Fuji stood up. "No time to waste, then. Sorry, but have to make our farewells..."

It took entirely too long for them to extract themselves from their friends, and when they got out onto the sidewalk, Tezuka took a deep breath, like he'd been underwater for too long.

Fuji smiled to himself, watching Tezuka. "Had enough of being social, Tezuka?"

He watched Fuji carefully. There really wasn't an answer to 'why were you late?' that would satisfy. Best to just leave it be. "What do you want to do?"

After just a second of thinking to himself, Fuji grabbed Tezuka's sleeve without touching his arm, and drew him along. Tezuka knew where they were headed as soon as they turned the corner, but he let Fuji drag him, anyway. Fuji would look at Tezuka over his shoulder with that sparkle in his eye that Tezuka knew, well. 

It was worth it.

Fuji did little more than smile at the girl at Grand Slam's reception desk. She winked at Tezuka as Fuji dragged him past her. Tezuka wasn't sure if it was the same girl as before or not.

Once inside Fuji's office, Fuji closed the door, and leaned back against it, smiling at Tezuka. Tezuka stayed precisely where Fuji had left him, close enough that he could reach up to touch Fuji's face, but his arms remained at his sides. "Did you want to show me something?"

"Not really," Fuji cocked his head to the side. "I wanted to change my clothes... Wait here?"

Tezuka didn't have to say one thing or another, because Fuji was already moving away. He frowned slightly as he watched Fuji disappear, certain things niggling in the back of his head, but he forced himself to concentrate on the here and now. He wandered over to Fuji's desk, looking over the papers, pictures, and knick-knacks that were scattered over the surface. There was a rough calendar scrawled out on the back of a photograph, with little faces next to each appointment to express Fuji's enthusiasm for whatever it was. 

Smiling gently, Tezuka turned to the bookcase of photograph albums, and pulled the black leather album that Fuji had shown him before from the top shelf. He set it down on top of the bookshelf, and opened it up, just flipping through the photographs. It was like holding Fuji's hand in his, and examining the lines that comprised his palm, these photographs, with each successive viewing, showed Tezuka more and more about the man he loved.

He was about to put the album back when he realized that there was another album perpendicularly situated behind where the black album was supposed to go. He hadn't been aware of it before, but it seemed an unlikely place for it to reside, so Tezuka pulled it out. However, there wasn't room for it quite on the top shelf lined up the proper way. He pulled it out, since the only thing he could do was to apologize to Fuji.

He opened the cover, more because he had nothing else to do, anyway.

Frozen, he stared at the picture on the first page. It was something he knew well; for years, he'd been teased about it. But...

"Mm, that's one of my all time favorites, even if I didn't take it myself," Fuji purred, suddenly behind Tezuka, putting his arms around Tezuka's waist.

Tezuka felt numb. "I don't remember it being this... graphic..."

Laughing, Fuji shook his head. "The one they published in People was perfectly discreet. But the photographer took _reams_ of film. You can't tell me you didn't notice." Fuji's fingers drifted over to trace the lines of Tezuka's body in the photograph, the white tennis shirt and white shorts transparent as they clung to him, as the water poured over him.

Tezuka blushed hotly. "The photographer... he had these...?"

"I made him give me copies of the negatives," Fuji sighed. "And I made sure that he signed a privacy waiver so that the distribution rights of any photographs not used for the purposes of the magazine would belong to you entirely. I'm sure they are a treasured part of his private collection, however."

Sighing, Tezuka flipped the page, almost roughly. It was... perverse. He certainly didn't want to look at himself like that. 

The next page, however, had a picture of Atobe, naked, lying on a fluffy white comforter, completely shameless. The next page was a less decadent but no more appropriate picture of Saeki. Tezuka closed his eyes and shut the album. "What is this? Your porn collection?"

Fuji drew away from Tezuka quietly. "Those pictures are beautiful, Tezuka. There will be new ones of you in there, soon. That's my private album."

Tezuka bit his lip. "I... Forgive me, Syuusuke, but..."

"You should really call me Fuji, Tezuka," Fuji chided, his eyes most purposefully looking away from Tezuka.

That stung, but Tezuka wasn't going to back down now. He reached up, and just barely grazed his fingers over Fuji's cheek. "Don't. I'm sorry. It's... They are beautiful pictures, I'm sure. They are just... outside my comfort zone."

A hint of a true smile toyed with Fuji's lips. "I can remember a time when I used to delight in tormenting your comfort zone."

Tezuka looked away, amused. "Morocco."

Fuji laughed out loud. "Don't even try to tell me you didn't love every second of that."

He was blushing now, fully, but Fuji was rather good at getting him to do that. "Wouldn't dream of it, Syuusuke."

Fuji reached out and touched Tezuka's arm playfully. "Ah, and there was that one club in Paris... Have you ever been back there?"

"Why would I go back without you?" Tezuka dismissed quietly. "You were the only reason I went there to begin with." He looked around Fuji, a bit shy about meeting his gaze. Fuji was wearing cargo pants with oversized pockets, and a sleeveless camouflage print shirt in blues and greens. He looked... cute. Tezuka leaned forward, and put his hands on Fuji's hips, just barely touching his lips to Fuji's.

Fuji turned away, sighing. "Stop. You'll make me feel like a slut."

He didn't draw away immediately. He put his forehead on Fuji's shoulder, and let Fuji hold his shoulders. "Why?"

He hadn't meant to ask that, and he didn't want an answer, but Fuji wasn't offering one, either. He slipped out from under Tezuka, and put the album back where it belonged, behind the others. "Let's get out of here. I spend too much time here as it is."

"Where do you feel like going?" Tezuka felt slightly hollow, but as long as Fuji permitted it, he would be by Fuji's side.

Fuji shrugged, and didn't look at Tezuka. "I don't know. We already ate. Don't feel much like 'going' anywhere..."

Tezuka considered for a moment, and then took Fuji's hand in his, and smiled softly. "Come with me?"

Fuji watched Tezuka warily, but nodded once, with a grin.

Tezuka called for a cab, because even though it was a nice day, it was a nice day to take a cab, as well. They didn't really speak in the cab, sitting on opposite sides and looking out opposite windows, though Tezuka was actually watching Fuji reflected in the glass of his window. They got to Tezuka's building, and Tezuka led the way up to his apartment. 

Fuji, naturally, understood where they were going as soon as Tezuka gave the cab driver the address, but he made no additional comments. He let Tezuka show him around, drifting to the floor to ceiling windows while Tezuka went to the kitchen to prepare some tea, out of custom.

When he came back, Fuji had his hand on the glass, his fingers splayed out. Tezuka set the tray down, and went to stand next to Fuji. 

"You should paint the glass," Fuji offered softly. "Take down all the window treatments, and just paint the glass. It has a nice effect."

Tezuka watched Fuji. "If you like. I got this place because I thought you might like it."

"I might..." Fuji turned away, restless. "Is this how you see this going, Tezuka? I just... move in, and we pretend the past five years never happened?"

"We can't do that," Tezuka sighed. "We both know it." He glared at whatever it was that was outside the glass. "But... I have to believe that we can still have a life together."

"Why?" Fuji questioned sharply. "Why does it matter?"

"Because I can't live without you," Tezuka replied simply. 

Fuji laughed. "But... you _have_ been, and that was your choice."

Tezuka regarded Fuji guardedly. "How do you see this going, Fuji? Can you ever imagine yourself forgiving me?" 

Fuji flopped down onto the oversized microfiber couch, looking, as Tezuka had hoped, like he belonged there. "Well, that's the problem I've been wrestling with, Tezuka. Because right now, I can't see myself _not_ forgiving you."

"This is a problem?" Tezuka asked, facing Fuji, giving him plenty of room between them.

He sighed heavily, and looked away from Tezuka. "Sometimes. Not a problem, per se, but... I... don't want to."

Tezuka weighed the words carefully. "And what can I do to change your mind?"

Fuji laughed. "Just be yourself. I can't resist you, I guess."

Slowly, Tezuka crossed the room, walking around the low table in front of the couch to sit near Fuji, but not right next to him. "You think I should suffer more."

"At least as much as I did," Fuji replied quickly and evenly. 

Tezuka nodded, and poured out a cup of tea, placing it before Fuji unobtrusively. "I suffered, too, Syuusuke."

"I'm sure," Fuji replied bitterly. The naked emotion in his voice was brittle, but it gave Tezuka hope. Fuji was being completely honest. "I bet fucking that bimbo was pure torture."

Tezuka flinched, but he didn't get angry. "No more so than screwing Atobe is, I'm sure, although I only slept with Katalina twice, and that was two years ago."

"Four years ago, nearly five," Fuji corrected petulantly.

"Not close to nearly five," Tezuka countered, confidently. "That was when the story came out, but it wasn't true."

"Inui sent me an advanced copy," Fuji murmured. "They had such a lovely picture of the two of you... Even then, when you knew I would read it, you didn't feel a need to call me? Tell me... that it wasn't true?"

Tezuka cleared his throat. "I thought, at the time, that if you had any feelings for me at all, you would contact me then."

Fuji shook his head. "Stupid miscommunications. I slept with Atobe for the first time that weekend."

Tezuka looked at Fuji, stunned.

Fuji slouched, and threw an arm over his face. "It wasn't... _precisely_... because of that. Just. Everyone was _so_ sympathetic, Oishi and Eiji, and Yuuta and Yumiko. I felt like my life was being waked, or something. It was... depressing. I had run into Atobe at a coffee shop a few months prior. We were playing this game of cat and mouse..." He sighed. "Things were escalating in that direction, but... I still believed... " he laughed. "I still believed that you were going to come back. Then... the article... Atobe showed up in his best sports car, and he offered to take me to the mountains for the weekend. No television, no cell phones, no newspapers, no internet, _nothing_. I realized... there were certain inevitabilities... but it sounded like heaven."

"He took advantage of you," Tezuka flatly replied. 

"No," Fuji shook his head, his voice calm and serious. "He could have. I was willing. But he was..." His lips quirked into a grin, memory clouding his eyes, clearly. "He was romantic. He seduced me," Fuji shrugged. "I had no regrets."

Tezuka looked away. He didn't want to hear things like this. He didn't want to know these sorts of things about them. He wanted to continue to believe what he had to in order to preserve his sanity. "That's good. I... wouldn't want for you to regret it."

Fuji was watching him, but he resisted looking at Fuji. "We moved in together about five months later. It was just easier. It's... it's never been about love." Fuji shrugged, uncomfortable with his need to justify this. "It was a game. And... a comfort."

Tezuka closed his eyes tightly. "A comfort." He could understand that, even if he didn't want to, necessarily. "Katalina... was a friend. A business friend. Her tennis wasn't up to standards, but she got into tournaments on her star power. ...Affiliations like ours helped to support that power, and... it was a distraction for the press for me. I certainly didn't want to answer questions about my love life then, so it was easier for people to assume things."

"But you did sleep with her."

He chose not to interpret Fuji's tone. "Two years ago. I had my second surgery, and I was recovering. It was..." He ran his hand through his hair. "Well, to be honest, it was pure torture. I didn't know if I was going to regain the use of my arm, at least, as far as tennis was concerned. And... I was alone. Friendship, even a business friendship, it... was a comfort."

"She took advantage of you," Fuji echoed, pitch for pitch.

"Yes," Tezuka half shrugged. "She was attracted to me, and she considered it a chance to show me that it could be... good enough."

Fuji looked away. "Was it?"

"There can never be anything called 'good enough,'" Tezuka sighed. "It's meaningless unless it's you."

"Meaningless," Fuji smiled, still looking away. "Does that mean that 'it' has great significance when it's the two of us?"

"It always did to me," Tezuka replied, faintly. He reached out, and brushed the back of his hand over the bare skin of Fuji's arm.

Fuji jerked away. "Don't." He bit his lip, trying so hard to look at anything except Tezuka. "Don't, don't be so... So, what, you got this apartment because... because you remember how much I loved this neighborhood? Fuck, Tezuka... five years! People change!"

"I know," Tezuka looked away, stung. His chest hurt, and it was hard to breathe.

"Why do I still love you so much, then?" Fuji straddled Tezuka lap, and put his hands in Tezuka's hair, clinging to him, taking a harsh, biting kiss. "Why? Why do you do this to me, still?"

Tezuka wrapped his arms around Fuji. The world spun around him as he vacillated between the despair and ecstasy. He had to cling to Fuji, to hold onto him... "Never stopped loving you, Syuusuke, my heart. You think I haven't suffered, but I've done nothing but suffer since I left you... Deservedly so, surely, but, Syuusuke, don't ever doubt it... I will love you forever."

There was an eternal moment of hesitation, and then Tezuka had Fuji in his arms, kissing him, tasting him, clinging to him, Fuji's fingers in his hair again, _again_ , this was perfect, just as it was meant to be...

Fuji was moaning under him, writhing, such delicious noises, and there was that smile, those eyes... Tezuka could get drunk on this feeling.

Hands slid up under his shirt, over his skin. Tezuka shuddered, and pressed down onto Fuji. He kissed the precious skin of Fuji's throat. If he could hold onto this, for however long, he would...

Fuji pushed up on Tezuka's hips. "We have to stop..."

"Why?" Tezuka saw no reason to stop. He didn't want to stop. But he pulled back immediately.

Fuji chuckled. "We're about to do something... I should have a conversation with Keigo first."

Tezuka sat up reluctantly, helping Fuji to sit up, as well. "You're leaving him?"

"One step at a time, Tezuka," Fuji sighed, scratching the back of his head. "I don't..."

Tezuka put his finger on Fuji's lips. "When can I see you again?"

Fuji cocked his head to the side. "When do you leave for England?"

"Friday."

Raising an eyebrow, Fuji smiled. "That's cutting it close, isn't it?"

Tezuka shrugged, disinterested.

Fuji ran his fingers through Tezuka's hair, rearranging back to the way he liked. "I'll come tomorrow, for breakfast."

Tezuka grabbed Fuji's arms, and pulled him in for another kiss, a long, lingering kiss. He nibbled on Fuji's bottom lip before he consented to let go of him. "Tomorrow, then? Will you... will you come to England with me?"

Licking his lips, Fuji stood up slowly, pulling away from Tezuka. "One step at a time, Tezuka. Breakfast, tomorrow."

Tezuka reached out to grab Fuji's hand. "Syuusuke... You believe me, don't you?"

Fuji just sighed, and smiled. "I know you, Tezuka."

"Do you want to be with me, still? Despite... despite what I've done?" Tezuka asked, sincerely.

Turning away, Fuji shrugged. "I'll let you know when I'm sure."

* * *

  


He huddled into himself, wishing for a jacket despite the heat. He wasn't surprised to see Atobe's car outside, but he ignored it at first.

He shouldn't have stopped Tezuka. That was just stupid. Of course, he was also half-kicking himself for going to Tezuka's in the first place. Giving up home turf... but then, it was irrelevant, anyway.

Atobe got out of his car, and came to stand in front of Fuji. Fuji didn't bother trying to walk around him or pretend not to see him. He stopped, and looked away. "Having me followed, Keigo?"

"Just looking after your well-being, Syuusuke," Atobe smiled pleasantly. He looked up at Tezuka's building. "Have you decided to go back to him?"

Fuji shifted from his right to left, and rolled his eyes. "Keigo... do you want to do this here? I don't mind if that's what you want."

"Give me ten days," Atobe offered.

Fuji just looked at Atobe.

Smirking, Atobe stepped closer to Fuji. "I can accept that you will go back to him, if that is what you are intent upon doing. But, just tell me this... Can you forgive him? Enough to go back to him, right now, without the slightest hesitation?"

Fuji narrowed his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest. He couldn't help betraying his answer, so he didn't bother saying anything.

Atobe put his hands on Fuji's waist, and rubbed his nose against Fuji's. "Ten days, lover. Let me take you away... a bon voyage, as it were. Let him stew. Let him spend ten days knowing... that I have my hands on you, that you are giving me access to you and your body... He's made you wait so long. Make him wait ten days, and make him earn you back." He brushed his lips over Fuji's, slipping his arms around Fuji.

Fuji turned his head away, and craned his neck, so Atobe had more landscape to work with; he said nothing about Atobe's plan, one way or the other, but he turned the idea around in his head.

Ten days.

* * *

  


Tezuka was pacing the kitchen. He had cooked for breakfast, and he had set aside portable dishes in case Fuji wanted to picnic, and he was ready to scrap it all if Fuji wanted to go out. 

But it was getting later and later, and he hadn't heard from Fuji yet.

So he paced. 

He was just about to toss his pan of scrambled eggs when the phone rang. He answered by asking for Fuji, because he was so sure that there was no one else it should be.

Fuji chuckled. "So eager, Tezuka?"

"Did you have something in mind for breakfast?" Tezuka asked quickly.

"Mm," Fuji sighed. "I do, yes. I'm afraid... actually... I won't be able to make it."

"No?" Tezuka did nothing to mask his disappointment. 

He could hear Fuji smiling. "I'm going away for a bit, actually. With Keigo."

Tezuka felt cold.

"I'll meet you in London, all right? Ten days."

"What?" Tezuka blinked. 

"In ten days, you'll still want me, right?"

"I'll always want you..." Tezuka affirmed, weakly.

"Good! Then I'll see you in ten days," Fuji chuckled.

"Wait, Syuusuke..." Tezuka cleared his throat. 

"Ten days, and then I'll be with you. Ok?"

That was the oddest question in the world. "Syuusuke... say my name."

There was a pause, and a soft sigh. "Kunimitsu... I waited for you."

Fuji hung up before Tezuka could reply.

He turned off the stove and tossed the eggs in the trash.

Waiting. If he was given no choice, what else could he do?


	8. Part Seven

He held his hands out to the fire, just standing there and soaking in heat while Atobe brought in all of the luggage. The cottage had been prepared for them, but there were no servants present at all, which surprised Fuji. Atobe had even started the fire himself. It was rare for Atobe to be willing to forgo the luxury of aid when traveling. There was only one other time Fuji could remember staying at a house with no servants while with Atobe.

It had been a long, but agreeable flight. The Atobe's private jet was large enough to be comfortable. They had sipped champagne until Fuji had gotten sleepy, and he curled up to sleep. He had felt Atobe's hand in his hair, but it wasn't an unpleasant feeling, and it was conducive to sleep. He didn't remember his dreams when he was awoken for landing, but he felt like he would have liked to stay asleep a while longer.

The drive up the mountain felt considerably longer. The cottage was not far from one of the peaks in the Swiss Alps, and the roads were icy from disuse. Their driver was a ranger who chatted constantly in Romansh, despite the fact that Atobe's knowledge of it was spotty, at best. Regardless, Atobe tried to translate for Fuji, until Fuji closed his eyes and put his head down on Atobe's shoulder. It was too cold to rest against the vehicle's door or window, anyway.

Fuji knew of this cottage. It was Atobe's father's favorite getaway, and given how well Atobe and his father got along, Fuji could only assume that their stay here was a bit of a miracle. It suited Fuji well enough, though, to sit in front of the fire, because he couldn't decide on a mood for more than a few minutes at a time, and being warmed up from being cold was a desirable alternative to thinking.

Atobe came to stand behind him, but there was enough space separating them to feel confident. "Still cold?"

Fuji smiled, though his back was to Atobe and there was no way he could see it.

"Why don't you take a bath?" Atobe suggested softly. "I'll make us something to warm up with."

Fuji raised an eyebrow. "You don't want to join me in the bath?"

"If you'd rather wait until we can bathe together, I certainly have no objection," Atobe smiled.

Fuji wanted to turn around, because there were times when Atobe's smiles were truly beautiful, but he didn't have a camera handy, anyway. "Maybe I'm more worried about you setting the kitchen on fire."

Chuckling, Atobe slipped his arms around Fuji's waist, the layers of cloth between them heavily thick. "I think I can manage cocoa. Go. I'll take care of everything."

"You're being considerate," Fuji murmured. "It's... unusual."

"Unusual for me to be considerate?" Atobe questioned archly.

"Mm," Fuji shrugged out of Atobe's grip, and smiled at him brightly. "I guess I'll take you up on that offer, then." He dumped his coat on the couch, and went to the bedroom. The cottage was small, but it had the typical sloped roof of a Swiss chalet, and the rooms all had high ceilings. The bedroom was large, even with the king sized bed in the middle, and the bathroom was a marvel of marble and brass. Fuji piled his boots and clothes on the floor of the bedroom, and went to the bathroom naked, certain that there would be fluffy towels laid out, and all the amenities of the bath ready.

It took a while to heat the water for the bath, and Fuji poked through the medicine cabinet in the meanwhile. There were all sorts of oils that he recognized as being favorites of Atobe's father. He skipped past those, because he didn't care for Atobe's father much, and he didn't like the idea of using scents with which the man used to seduce his women. There were a few candles, too, that Fuji didn't light, because they were too obviously 'romantic.'

He turned on the whirlpool jets, though, and sank into the water. He closed his eyes, and tried to blank out his thoughts. He hated feeling like this, so _indecisive_. He wanted to be here, and he wanted to be somewhere else, and he wanted to be with someone else, and he wanted to be alone, and he wanted to be with Atobe. His heart wasn't conflicted, but it wasn't untroubled, and he wanted, more than anything, to feel like he was in the right place doing the right thing. 

With his eyes closed, he could see soft brown eyes clearly, and his stomach flipped.

He put his hand in the flow of the jets, and watched the water churn around his fingers. He wasn't unhappy here. He didn't mind being seduced. He wanted to be spoiled.

He wrapped a large towel around himself after he got out of the tub, ignoring the robes that Atobe's father had ready there. In the bedroom, the bags had been unpacked, and his clothes had been picked up. A set of fluffy, flannel pajamas waited for him. It was endearing, really, because he loved fluffy pajamas, and the feel of flannel against his skin, but he knew Atobe hated it, passionately. But there was nothing quite like slipping into something soft and warm when the air had a chill to it, and there was nothing like slipping toes that were bitten by the cold floor into furry slippers.

Atobe was in the kitchen, concentrating as he poured cocoa sloppily from the pan to the mugs. From the powdery mess in the pan, Fuji could assume that Atobe had actually made it from scratch. He chuckled lightly, and climbed onto the bar chair next to the counter, across from Atobe, tucking his legs under him. "So domestic, Keigo."

Placing a mug before Fuji, Atobe grinned. "Every once and a while, so you'd better enjoy it."

Fuji wrapped his hands around the mug, letting it burn into him. "Does this mean that I'm cooking for the rest of the week?"

Atobe smiled, and leaned forward, so their hands were nearly touching. "I think we can come to a mutually agreeable arrangement."

"Mm," Fuji lifted his mug, and sipped it cautiously. "Well, I am still concerned you'd set this place on fire."

"At least I would keep us warm," Atobe countered amicably.

"Why here?" Fuji dodged the potential seriousness of the question by putting his lips on the rim of the mug again, just letting the cocoa seep into his mouth.

"It's secluded," Atobe shrugged. "Exotic. You've never been here before." He paused, the corner of his lips quirking up. "And it will annoy my father."

Fuji lowered his head, and laughed softly. "The best of everything then, mm?"

Atobe grazed a finger over Fuji's hand. "Naturally."

Looking away, Fuji held his hand still. 

"Are you tired?" Atobe asked, considerately.

Fuji shrugged. "Anxious to get me to bed?"

"Always," Atobe nodded with a smile. "But it has been a long day."

"Travel time is included in the ten days," Fuji murmured.

For a moment, Atobe looked annoyed, but it passed. "Of course. Anything else I can get for you?"

Fuji looked around aimlessly. It really was a beautiful cottage, and tomorrow morning, he was sure the mountain would be glorious. A pity, really, because he didn't think he wanted to take pictures here. "I suppose I am tired. Aren't you?"

Atobe shrugged. "I suppose so. You can go on ahead. I think I'll shower first."

Fuji lifted his mug, and took a long sip, even though it burned his tongue a bit. There was still half a mug of cocoa left, but it didn't matter. He stood up and stretched out, pleased that even at full height, his pajama tops stayed over his pajama bottoms. "All right then. Have a good shower." He started for the bedroom, but he slowed a bit to look over his shoulder. "Don't be too long."

He slipped in under the pile of heavy blankets and the comforter, and closed his eyes as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Tezuka was probably getting ready to leave for England.

* * *

  


No matter how eager one was to go out to play in the snow, one always ended up running back inside from the cold. Especially when one was running from pursuing snowballs. Atobe chased Fuji around the cottage, jumping over the bed before tackling him on the couch, and sticking his hand, still clutching a melting wad of snow, under Fuji's coat and sweater and shirt, to press it against his skin.

Fuji screamed and kicked, turning Atobe over and landing on top of him, on the floor. He pressed Atobe's shoulders to the ground, his eyes gleaming. "Do you submit?"

"Submission is defeat," Atobe sneered with a grin. 

"Defeat, eh?" Fuji bit the corner of his lip, too amused. He pressed his knee into Atobe's groin. "Is that right?"

Atobe groaned, and rolled over, or tried to, at least. "I give, I give. You play dirty."

"I play to win," Fuji grinned, kissing Atobe's cheeks. 

Atobe caught Fuji's face, and kissed him, hard. "I like to play with you, _cutie_."

He grabbed Atobe's nose, and wriggled it back and forth. "You left the door open." Fuji sat back, pouting. "Go close it, and get the fire started."

Shaking his head, Atobe sighed, and got to his feet. "Yes, yes. Maybe I should have let a servant or two stay on... You are so demanding."

Fuji stuck his tongue out at Atobe, childishly. He grabbed a blanket from off the couch, and threw it over himself. "I'm cold. Make me cocoa."

"Don't push your luck, gorgeous," Atobe chided, clucking his tongue.

"Does that mean you won't make it for me?" Fuji pouted, being extra adorable.

Sighing, Atobe rolled his eyes. He locked the cottage door, and went over to the fire. "I'll make the cocoa if you make dinner while I shower."

Fuji raised an eyebrow. "I don't think _that_ sounds like a good deal. How about... you make the cocoa while you make dinner... and then we'll shower together."

"Ah, but," Atobe winked at him, "maybe then I would take advantage of you in wicked, dirty ways."

"I'm willing to take my chances," Fuji offered loftily.

"Are you?" Atobe stalked over to Fuji on his knees. "Will you expose your weaknesses to me?"

Fuji shrank back with a defiant smile. "I'll let you think I am."

Atobe shook his head, and leaned in, kissing Fuji slowly. "Let down your guard. You know me."

Fuji put his hands on Atobe's face. "I know you. That's why I have to defend myself."

"Do you have to defend against me?" Atobe nuzzled Fuji. "Mm, but it's not so bad when I slip past your defenses..."

"Don't be so sure you ever have," Fuji warned, pushing Atobe away. 

Atobe didn't move back. He watched Fuji closely, his eyes narrowed. Fuji pressed his lips together, refusing to flinch. Atobe closed his eyes and sighed, leaning back. "You are so stubborn and beautiful. It reminds me of when I first courted you."

"Courted?" Fuji laughed. "I don't remember that."

"Of course you do," Atobe winked, standing up. "You didn't think that **all** of those encounters were by chance."

Thinking back, Fuji knew that he didn't. But that didn't mean anything, one way or the other. "So you were stalking me? How vulgar."

Laughing, Atobe went to the kitchen, shedding his coat and gloves as he did. "I was pursuing you. I had decided I wanted you. I just had to wear you down."

"I was in love with someone else," Fuji sighed, cuddling under the blanket for warmth. "Didn't that mean anything to you?"

"It meant I had to make you forget him," Atobe returned, predatorily. "That made it more... challenging."

"Why?" Fuji tugged off his mittens, tossing them closer to the fire, as if he wasn't interested in the answer.

Atobe didn't answer right away. He sighed loudly as he prepared the cocoa. From a mix this time. "When I was watching Wimbledon that year, I thought... how exciting you were. But. Sitting across from you in a café, trading barbs, I realized... you were a million times more exciting than I'd ever guessed. Could never get bored playing with you."

"But it's just a game, then," Fuji smiled to himself. "You knew that from the start. It was just a game."

Atobe scowled. "Life is a game."

"Mm," Fuji looked away. "I suppose."

Atobe carried over the cocoa, not being careful at all about spills. "I make life fun. Admit it."

Fuji smiled, a special smile reserved for when he knew he had something someone else wanted. "Thanks for the cocoa, Keigo. I'm hungry. How long until dinner?"

Atobe rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, going, going..."

Fuji chuckled, putting his hands around the mug of cocoa. 

He was having fun.

* * *

  


The fire crackled in front of them. He pulled Atobe's arms around him tighter. Tezuka's arms were different, he thought, but... He couldn't remember exactly. Tezuka had held him like this before. Tezuka was maybe an inch or less taller, or maybe shorter. Maybe he fit into Tezuka's arms better, or possibly worse.

There were too many possibilities. He watched the fire, the myriad of colors, the heat, the licks of flames... It was so beautiful. 

Atobe's lips brushed over his temple. "Happy, sweetie?"

Fuji smiled. "Am I sweet?"

Atobe tilted his chin up, and kissed the corner of his lips. "Ah, you taste sweet... but you have such a deliciously bitter aftertaste."

Chuckling silently, Fuji nestled into Atobe's arms more. "You're being romantic. You know how much I hate that."

"Sorry," Atobe grinned, unapologetic. "Can't help it, though."

"Not much time left."

"Always time to spare, Syuusuke."

"Keigo..." Fuji sighed. "This reminds me of our first trip together."

"Does it?" Atobe rubbed his hands over Fuji's arms. "That was a good trip, wasn't it?"

"Mm," Fuji sighed. "We had sex for the first time in front of a fire."

Atobe shifted behind him, causing Fuji to grin, wicked with triumph. "We did," Atobe breathed under Fuji's ear. "I slowly took off each piece of your clothing until you were completely bare. I put my hands and my lips on your skin, made you feel good. Let you tear my clothes off." Atobe smirked. Fuji was pushing against him. He brushed his nose against Fuji's skin, and licked Fuji. "Afterward, I held you, and then I carried you to bed. Remember?"

"Vividly," Fuji sighed. He had his eyes closed, and he leaned back, rubbing his bottom over Atobe's crotch. "We had sex on the bed, then, too. You recited poetry to me, and I made fun of you." He smiled.

Atobe chuckled. His hand slipped down to Fuji's waist, resting it over Fuji's crotch. He whispered into Fuji's ear, "You aren't romantic at all. I never thought I would fall in love with someone like you."

Fuji's smile drifted away. "You aren't in love with me."

"How do you know?" Atobe ran his thumb over Fuji's throat. "I know my own heart."

"It's just a game," Fuji sighed.

"Life is a game," Atobe insisted.

Fuji shook his head, and smiled. "Games have winners and losers. Do you really think you can win?"

Atobe put his hand on Fuji's cheek, and turned his face so he could kiss Fuji, the fingers over Fuji's crotch curling in, applying perfected pressure. "I can only do what I always do... my best."

Fuji moaned softly, and put his hand on Atobe's chest, curling his fingers in slightly. "The end result will be the same."

"We won't know that for sure, will we, until the end?" Atobe grinned, and kissed Fuji.

Fuji's eyes slipped closed, and he let Atobe touch him, let Atobe's knowledgeable hands guide him away. "And if you knew that I was right, and I've already won and you've already lost?"

"Then this is my last chance to make love to you. So I have to get it _right_." Atobe's hands slipped up under Fuji's shirt, and clawed at his skin, at his flesh, and he picked Fuji up, picked himself up, and carried him to the bedroom.

Candles were lit, and music was put on, western music, classical. Atobe poured wine, and undressed Fuji slowly, tasting the skin that was revealed, licking and breathing on it, whispering over it. He traced symbols on Fuji's flesh with his fingers and tongue.

Fuji put his arms above his head, and closed his eyes.

Atobe parted Fuji's lips, and shared a mouthful of wine with him. It was bitter and flavorful, and potently heady. Atobe's fingers tickled under Fuji's arms, and they laughed together. Atobe spoke to him in a hushed voice, smiling, and his smile was beautiful, really intimate and caring, like there was no barrier between them, no façade at all.

Fuji pushed the back of his head against the pillow. He wanted it to go faster, harder, just... get it over with, but he remained motionless. Let Atobe run tickling fingers over the sensitive areas of his skin, so they could laugh together, tumble over the bed together. Let Atobe hold him in his arms and kiss him tenderly, his eyes even smokier for being only half open. He didn't know why he was doing this, why he was letting Atobe do this. It didn't make sense, but he wasn't thinking, anyway. He was feeling. Feeling Atobe's tongue inside of his thigh, and feeling Atobe's fingers probe into him, feeling Atobe's breathing on his stomach, and feeling Atobe's lips on his, moving him.

He lifted his arms, but he didn't push Atobe away, or rush him. He slid his fingers through Atobe's hair, which parted like water for him, slipped through and fell back down over Atobe's eyes. 

He moaned Atobe's name as Atobe pushed inside of him. It was slow, so slow, like pushing through molasses, so sweetly slow. He begged Atobe to hurry, but Atobe kissed him, biting his lips teasingly. He put his hand on the back of Atobe's neck, and looked into Atobe's eyes as Atobe moved inside of him.

Atobe swore his love as he brought Fuji closer and closer to perfect ecstasy. They were so close, together, moving together, moaning together, pushing each other closer and closer...

Atobe's mouth was over his when he came. He screamed into Atobe's mouth, and swallowed Atobe's groans.

He was shaking. He didn't know why he was shaking, but Atobe was holding him, smoothing his hair and kissing him. He was kissing Atobe. He was clinging to Atobe.

This wasn't in the plan.

* * *

  


Dreams were still clouding his thoughts, but he was aware of what was going on in the room, too. Everything was blurring together. It didn't make sense.

Fuji was dressed, and he was separating his things from Atobe's things, and putting them into a bag. 

Atobe sat up. "What's going on?"

Smiling, Fuji didn't look at him. "I'm packing."

"I can see that, Syuusuke," Atobe blinked, and threw off the covers. The air was cold and he was naked. " _Why_ are you packing?" He blinked at the clock. It was three am.

"I'm leaving," Fuji shrugged. He was still smiling that enigmatic, infuriating smile.

"No," Atobe stood up, narrowing his eyes. Couldn't Fuji be dramatic at a _decent_ hour? "I still have five days."

Fuji shrugged. "Game over."

"No!" Atobe grabbed Fuji's arm, forcing him to look him in eye. "Why? Why all of a sudden? I thought..." He brushed his fingers over Fuji's cheek. "Why do you want to leave when things are going so well?"

Fuji's smiled went away. He tugged away from Atobe's reach. "I don't want to play anymore."

"Ah, so, it's time to run off to your _serious_ boyfriend," Atobe rolled his eyes. "We're not done, Syuusuke."

"We're done, Keigo," Fuji smiled. "We both lose. I've called for the car. He should be here soon. It's a long drive to the airport." Fuji ran his fingers through his hair. "Aren't you cold?"

"Would this be easier for you if I wasn't naked, Syuusuke?" Atobe grabbed Fuji's wrist, and kissed the inside of the wrist. "Talk to me. Why are you doing this?"

"Because." Fuji brushed his fingers over Atobe's lips. "I love him better."

Atobe felt numb. Felt naked. He watched Fuji pick up his bags, and leave the bedroom. He could hear the horn of the truck outside, taking Fuji away. Fuji wouldn't be able to speak to the man, he would just smile at him as if he understood. It was a long drive, and a long flight, too, though not so long as to Japan. Still, Fuji would have to buy a ticket at the last minute, and it would be expensive. 

He sighed, and went to take a shower. He would call the pilot when he was done, and offer his plane to Fuji. 

He had taken the ten days off, anyway.


	9. Part Eight

"Bob, there is a great atmosphere here today, isn't there?"

"You said it, Phil. From the crowd's enthusiasm today, I'd say we are ready to kick off a phenomenal Wimbledon."

"I think it's safe to say that this match is primary focus today, wouldn't you? Bob, what do you think we are going to see here today?"

"Well, Phil, Cuerrero is a strong, fast up-and-comer, and he bears watching. But is he a year or two before his prime? Absolutely. On the other side of the net, though, we have Kunimitsu Tezuka, one of Japan's best tennis players, all time. In fact, his consistency over the past ten years is amazing... he's a real credit to the sport. And you know, Tezuka has never gone down without a fight, so this is bound to be a very interesting match."

"But most people are counting Tezuka out, aren't they? Is it Cuerrero's youth? Is this the Tezuka's swan song?"

"Well, the critical issue, Phil, will be his arm. The last time we saw Tezuka on the court, he was hurting, he was definitely hurting, Phil. And there have not been any conclusive reports on what Tezuka has done to secure his arm, so that's going to be a big issue. Is his arm solid? If yes, then Cuerrero doesn't stand a chance, I think. If no, well, then, it's anybody's guess, but I will tell you this: Tezuka is a fighter. He's a true fighter. And no matter what, this will not be an easy match, not at all."

"He's had issues with his left arm throughout his career, right, Bob? And I believe he played the French Open last year with his _right_ hand, which caused quite a stir."

"He came close to _winning_ the French Open, Phil, with his right hand, and that's the determination and spirit that I'm talking about. He injured his arm as a _grade schooler_ , Phil, but he never gave up, and he's the first player from Japan to win a Grand Slam. I would **not** count Tezuka out in this Wimbledon, I really wouldn't."

* * *

  


People were milling about, excited. It had been a long time since Fuji had gone to a pro tennis match. The nostalgia was palpable, like a thousand memories were spicing his appreciation of the experience. Nervous energy kept him moving back and forth, his eyes sharp on the crowds. When he saw who he was looking for, relief flooded him, and he took a deep breath.

Yuuta looked more than a bit annoyed, but Fuji knew - or hoped, at least - that it was in part an act. Yuuta still loved tennis as much as he ever had, and a free ticket to Wimbledon was nothing to take lightly, even if it was last minute. 

Fuji grinned brightly, more brightly than he felt. "Yuuta. Thank you for coming."

"Hmph," Yuuta sighed, not looking his brother in the eye. "If I'm in trouble at work, you'll have to deal with it." An idle threat, as there was no conceivable way for Fuji to navigate Yuuta through any difficulties at work. "Are you sure about this, Aniki?"

Yuuta's tone was so serious and low there, Fuji had to smile and laugh it off. "Of course. It's no problem at all. I checked ahead of time; Tezuka reserved a box, and put me on the list. It's ok to bring a guest. Are you excited? It's been years, right?"

His brother hated it when he treated him like a kid, but just as Yumiko couldn't help but mother them every chance she got, Fuji was too used to protecting Yuuta. "Let's just go in, mm? The match has already started, hasn't it?"

Fuji smiled. His heart was pounding. This is where he wanted to be, and whom he wanted to be with, he knew that. But it felt complex, regardless. He hadn't expected to be so conflicted when he left Atobe. And he wasn't at all sure Tezuka should even be playing. Would this be the last time Tezuka would be raising his racquet in his whole life? That seemed like a daunting prospect. Fuji was sick of confusion and uncertainty, though. The more nervous he was, the more determined he was to see it through.

This was going to change his life, after all, so he'd better enjoy it.

* * *

  


"Two sets down already, Bob. This is heartbreaking, isn't it?"

"I have to tell you, Phil, this is **not** the Kunimitsu Tezuka we have come to expect. It just seems like he has no energy, he has no drive. This is awful."

"But Cuerrero is looking good. Maybe it's just time for the old guard to step down?"

"Tezuka is not playing at his own level, Phil, that's clear. Cuerrero is getting away with a _lot_ down there. A **lot**."

"Can Tezuka come back? Can he salvage this match?"

"Well, we've seen him do just that, too many times to count. Australia, two years ago. Remember? But he's **got** to get his head in the game, or else it's all lost. It is _all_ lost."

* * *

  


He let his head hang down a bit, shrouded in a cool towel. He was disappointed in himself; this was far harder than it should have been. He kept seeing things as if in slow motion. He couldn't get his body to react in time, and he couldn't get his arm to extend the way it should.

At this rate, he'd be eliminated in just a few hours. Disappointing, disappointing, disappointing.

He could hear the chatter of the crowd, and the buzz of the announcers. They were surrounding him, suffocating him. Distracting him. His coach was talking, making general comments that any fool watching the match on television could make. The droning was another distraction, not helpful at all. He could even hear Sam calling for him. Usually, she stayed out of the way for matches. Another distraction.

Sam was being too insistent, though, and his coach got up to talk to her. A moment later, his coach's thick hand was holding a piece of paper under his nose. After a second, Tezuka took it, and unfolded it. Sam wrote it in Japanese, in crudely formed shapes that were only recognizable as words because of the simplicity of the message.

'Look in your box.'

He blinked, and considered for a moment, before looking up. The boxes were easy to locate in the stadium, because Wimbledon had an almost cozy feeling to it. Each box had six seats, but there were only two people in his.

He hadn't expected anyone to be in his box for the first two rounds.

Slowly, he started to smile.

* * *

  


"He's looking at you," Yuuta commented unnecessarily.

Fuji smiled. Tezuka got up to go to the service line. He took a few moments to center himself, and then it was like a new Tezuka was on the court. There would be no more straight games for Cuerrero. 

"'Bout time," Yuuta grumbled, under his breath.

Fuji leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, and he watched the ball zing back and forth. He watched Tezuka set Cuerrero up, and then smash the ball to the other side of the court.

He grinned. It was almost possible to ignore the way Tezuka's arm was moving when he was playing like this.

Someone else entered the box, and sat down a seat away from Yuuta. When they were changing courts, she passed something over to Fuji. "Here," Sam smiled nervously. "You'll need these to get to the locker rooms."

Fuji took the pass, but he gave Sam a look.

She shrugged, and stood up. "Everyone makes mistakes, Fuji-san."

He didn't watch her leave, more interested in Tezuka's return ace.

* * *

  


He knew his way around these halls perfectly. Wimbledon hadn't changed in fifty years, much less five. He knew most of the faces he passed, too, and he nodded politely as he passed people. He tried to tell himself that he was being silly. He had seen Tezuka already recently. Had kissed him. And he knew Tezuka well, better than anyone. There was no reason to be nervous. 

He kept telling himself that, all the way there.

He wasn't paying attention, clearly, because he had passed the familiar reclining form, and didn't stop until he spoke. "So, you're here to take care of him, mm?"

Fuji paused, and turned to smile at Echizen. "Ah, how are you, Echizen-kun?"

Echizen closed his eyes and grinned. "A lot better since that third set started. ...His arm's not good, is it?"

Fuji tilted his head to the side. "You are so concerned for your former senpais. That's so sweet."

Echizen watched Fuji closely, and then he smirked. "Make sure he doesn't lose until he faces me." He shoved himself off the wall, and started to walk away.

"Do you know what he's planning?" Fuji asked, purposefully vague.

Echizen just shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I won't go easy on him, no matter what." He looked over his shoulder, and met Fuji's eye for a moment.

Fuji turned away, unsettled.

He didn't allow himself to linger outside Tezuka's assigned locker room; he put his hand on the knob as soon as he got to the door, and he let himself in. He closed the door behind him immediately, and surveyed the scene. Tezuka was shirtless, and his shoulder and elbow were being wrapped up. He was surrounded by people who were all trying to pull him or prod him in one direction or another. Tezuka, however, was only interested in the newest person to enter the room.

No one could hold Tezuka back, though his coach tried. Fuji found himself in Tezuka's sweaty arms, being pressed against the wall as Tezuka kissed him. He put his hand on Tezuka's skin, and his arms around Tezuka's neck, and he gave in to this wonderful feeling.

"You're here," Tezuka whispered, his eyes shining with awe.

Fuji ran his fingers through Tezuka's hair. He could get drunk off the scent of Tezuka's sweat. It always made him so needy. "And you're already sweaty for me."

Tezuka grinned, and Fuji, ludicrously, wished he had his camera. "You're early."

"I am," Fuji replied, softly.

Tezuka kissed Fuji, slowly building the passion up, until Fuji felt like his brain had melted into his shoes. "I'm so happy."

"Tezuka!" Someone was trying to pull them apart, without getting too close. "Your arm! We have to treat it!"

Fuji ran his hands over Tezuka's half-bandaged arm. "Are you all right? Are you in pain?"

Tezuka brushed his nose over Fuji's. "All right? You're here. I'm holding you. I don't feel anything but good."

Fuji smiled, and slipped his fingers over Tezuka's lips, over his face. He kissed Tezuka, and clung to him. 

This was worth it. This was worth all of it... 

"Tezuka-san," Sam coughed discreetly, trying not to intrude, even though she was at Tezuka's elbow. "You really do need to take care of your arm. It will only take a little while."

Tezuka was scowling, and Fuji could tell that he would disagree, so he took the initiative. "Why don't I go on ahead and wait for you at your hotel? Been a long day of traveling, anyway."

There was clearly a lot of things that Tezuka wanted to say, but he just released Fuji enough to let him down off the wall, and he looked at Sam.

She smiled, and nodded. "I'll show Fuji-san to your room."

Fuji leaned up and kissed Tezuka. "See you soon, then."

There were times when looking into Tezuka's eyes was a lot like sticking a fork in an electric socket. Fuji was shivering as he followed Sam out of the locker room. She didn't say anything as she led him to the car park, but she continued to smile nervously.

Fuji knew that his own empty smile was only making it worse for her, but he had no desire to make things easy. 

When they were pulling out onto the street, she took a deep breath. "Look, I know you must be angry with me, and you have every right, of course. Just... my job is to look after my client's image, no matter what. It was... easier... when he was distanced from the relationship that threatened his public image. I realize that it's not your concern anymore, but being in a gay relationship would ruin an athlete's hope for any endorsement deals."

She sounded so rational and reasonable. And of course, she could attempt to maintain righteousness because it had all worked out in the end, hadn't it? Fuji grinned. "Mm. I'm sure the fact that you are in love with him had nothing to do with it. Too bad he decided to fuck that Russian bimbo, hm?" She swerved a bit in traffic, and got them honked at. "Careful," Fuji chided. "I'd prefer to arrive at the hotel in one piece."

She looked miserable. "Fuji-san, I am sorry. I was wrong, I know. But it wasn't malice, or jealousy, I swear. I really was doing what I thought was best for him."

Fuji looked away, not quite capable of maintaining his smile. "I'm what's best for him."

"I know," she conceded.

Fuji narrowed his eyes, and watched London speed by. The difficulty, of course, was that Tezuka was what was best for _him_ , as well.

* * *

  


Tezuka was rushing so much that he had to insert the keycard three times before it registered. He just couldn't be sure that Fuji would be there until he saw him. The room looked empty, and for a second, he was about to panic, but when he turned the corner to the bedroom, he saw Fuji, in the middle of the bed. Slowly, Fuji sat up as he heard Tezuka enter.

Tezuka just watched. Fuji, naked, looking at him from his bed. He grinned.

Fuji rubbed his eyes, and frowned. "Your shoulder..."

"Oh," Tezuka pulled off the ice pack that was taped to his arm and tossed it to the bathroom. "It's fine." He climbed onto the bed with Fuji.

Fuji leaned forward and touched Tezuka's arm. His fingers felt hot, and he really was naked. "Tezuka! Don't be so careless... you need to take care of yourself..."

"Syuusuke," Tezuka caught Fuji's hands, and brought them to his lips to kiss each finger. "Please. Isn't it time to call me by my name again?"

Fuji bit his lip, and slumped his shoulders. "'Mitsu, aren't you in pain?"

Tezuka leaned down and kissed Fuji, holding his face. "Not at all. You're here. You're early. You came back to me... Syuusuke, I love you."

Sighing, Fuji leaned his head on Tezuka's good shoulder. "I've been worried about you. You played too hard."

He brushed his fingers over Fuji's face, unable to keep from grinning. "I played to win. That's all."

Fuji pouted a bit. "You always do."

He traced the lines of Fuji's face, his eyebrows and his cheekbones, and he kissed Fuji's lips softly. "Are you... are you all right?" That wasn't exactly what he wanted to ask. He had to do better. "You aren't regretting coming here?"

Sighing, Fuji put his hands on Tezuka's shoulders, applying no pressure as he smoothed his palms over Tezuka's shirt. "You're overdressed."

Tezuka felt awkward, as if he had too many limbs. He felt self-conscious, too, like he was still the teenager, fumbling clumsily in the dark while trying not to disturb his parents. He tossed aside his clothes, and pulled back the sheets. He reacquainted himself with Fuji's skin, with his body, with gentle kisses and timid touches. "I need to show you... that I love you..."

"Show me," Fuji replied immediately, fervently. "Make me forget that we were ever apart, 'Mitsu."

He'd forgotten the way his stomach flipped and turned. He'd forgotten the way his skin shivered and quaked at Fuji's touch. He'd forgotten Fuji's habit of curling Tezuka's hair around his fingers as he got more and more excited. He'd forgotten a lot, but it was all details.

Some things, he couldn't forget, no matter how much time passed.

They moved together like they had perfectly choreographed every move. Tezuka was on his back, because Fuji was being cautious of his shoulder. He held Fuji's hips as Fuji tortured him by moving so slowly, up and down. He looked up at Fuji's body, and the expression on Fuji's face, the sound of his voice, and it was like he was breathing fresh air again after being trapped in a dungeon for decades. He let his hands drift up Fuji's skin as Fuji could no longer keep from riding Tezuka faster and faster, and he curled his fingertips into Fuji's flesh as he screamed.

He held Fuji in his arms. Their bodies were messy and the bed was a mess and Fuji was asleep almost right away, so Tezuka held him, and brushed his hair out of his face, and kissed his forehead and his cheeks.

Their second life was starting.

* * *

  


Fuji had been awake for nearly twenty minutes, and he knew that Tezuka knew, too. It was odd, because he was used to playing the game with Atobe. Not that he minded. At all.

It was easier with Tezuka.

Fingers pushed through his hair, and lips touched his temple. He smiled against Tezuka's skin. He wished he had his camera, and he wished he didn't think like that. It wasn't so much the aesthetics of the moment as much as it was that he wanted to remember this morning for a long time. He lazily circled Tezuka's nipple with his finger. "Aren't you being horribly lazy? It's time to train, right?"

"There's really no reason to," Tezuka shrugged without moving, his voice low, as if he was still trying not to disturb Fuji's rest. "It won't affect the outcome either way."

Fuji frowned, and pillowed his chin on his hands, on Tezuka's chest. "What does that mean? Are you not thinking about the future at all?"

"I haven't stopped thinking about the future since I first saw you yesterday," Tezuka smiled. Mornings like this used to be so common Fuji never even took note of them. He wanted to believe he would be able to take them for granted again soon.

"What do you think about when you think about the future, 'Mitsu?" Fuji shifted to put more of his weight on top of Tezuka. He liked the way his body felt when pressed against Tezuka.

Tezuka put his hand in Fuji's hair. "I think about atonement, first of all. I think about making you happy."

Fuji yawned. "Atonement sounds boring. Should we travel?"

Blinking, Tezuka's expression shifted so he was watching Fuji more carefully. "Would you like that?"

"I suppose we've pretty much been everywhere interesting in the world," Fuji shrugged. "But there are places I like to be. Do you remember when we rented that car in Los Angeles, and we drove up to Oregon? That was fun."

Tezuka caressed Fuji's face with his thumb. "Mm, I do remember. I did all the driving. And you kept trying to distract me..."

"That was the fun part," Fuji grinned. 

Tezuka put his hand on Fuji's shoulder, letting it slide to Fuji's back. "We've done that, though. We have new adventures before us, don't we?"

It was true, and somehow, it still wasn't quite what Fuji wanted to hear. "Are you going to ask me about Atobe? About where I was, and what we were doing?"

Pain flickered briefly across Tezuka's face, but he was able to smile again quickly. "I hadn't thought about it."

"Why not?" These smiles were for him, and him alone. No one else ever saw them. Tezuka didn't smile for his little Russian 'friend,' Fuji was sure. He reached forward to touch Tezuka's bottom lip. This was for him. "Aren't you jealous? Don't you want to know what happened?"

Tezuka looked away for just a moment, and he took a deep breath. "Do you want me to be jealous, Syuusuke? I know what I need to know. You were with him, and you chose to be with me. Everything else is... less meaningful."

Fuji considered for a moment. He watched Tezuka watching him. Without his glasses, Tezuka's eyes looked different, looked smaller, less distinct. Fuji leaned up, and kissed Tezuka, pushing his tongue into Tezuka's mouth. He slid his hand down Tezuka's body to rest on Tezuka's hip. He put his cheek down on Tezuka's chest, and took a deep breath. "What will we do today?"

Tezuka put his arms around Fuji, blanketing him. "I only want to be with you. Anything else is fine by me."

"Let's go back to sleep, then," Fuji suggested, but he knew they wouldn't sleep. He pressed himself closer to Tezuka's body. He wasn't prepared to give this up just yet.

* * *

  


They went down for lunch much later, after the small bistro in the hotel was officially closed, but fortunately, the concierge was sure they could accommodate them. Fuji was wearing Tezuka's t-shirt and shorts, which were ridiculously large on Fuji, but somehow, he managed to make it look cute instead of strange.

Tezuka took Fuji's hand as if it were normal, and walked while keeping his eyes on Fuji.

There was a surreal blend of the mundane and the bizarre at work in the way they behaved around each other that added an element of nervousness. They weren't doing things in the right order. It felt like they were on the first date, but they'd already slept together.

Tezuka had told him that he loved him more than a few times. 

Fuji felt lethargic from being in bed all day, and he stopped picking everything apart as their food arrived. He wasn't questioning his choice. He'd already made it. It would just take time. 

There were things that he didn't know about Tezuka now, and there were definitely things Tezuka didn't know about him. It would just take time.

Fuji pulled his hand from Tezuka to wave to Yuuta, who was walking by the bank of leafy palms that separated the bistro from the hotel lobby. His hand dropped to his side when he realized Yuuta wasn't alone. Tezuka was watching him, and Yuuta clearly wanted to just keep going, but his companion was interested in stopping and saying hello.

There was plenty of room at the table for Yuuta and Mizuki. Tezuka nodded at Yuuta, who ignored him. Mizuki grinned quietly at both Fuji and Tezuka, but refrained from saying anything.

Fuji forced himself to smile. "Yuuta, I didn't know you were planning on meeting anyone here."

"Yeah, well, after you ditched me yesterday, I ran into Mizuki. Lucky, too, because I had no idea where you went," Yuuta grumbled, and looked petulantly from his brother to his friend. 

"Ah, well..." Fuji let the thought drift off. He didn't really know what to say, so he just smiled.

"I still have all your bags and stuff," Yuuta complained further, goaded on by Fuji's lack of response.

"Are you staying in this hotel?" Tezuka asked, still able to affect an air of authority with everything he did. "Regardless, we can arrange to have the bags transferred. I apologize for taking your brother away from you so abruptly."

Yuuta snorted softly, but he was left with nothing to say. Mizuki chuckled, and rolled his eyes slightly. "There's no cause for concern, really. I knew this was where Tezuka-san was staying, and we met your publicist in the lobby yesterday evening. She made sure we got a room, and she'll take care of everything else. Yuuta-kun is just used to being babied, I suppose. Happens to youngest children."

"How long are you in England, Mizuki?" Fuji was tired of this conversation, and tired of the forced politeness. He wouldn't mind spending the afternoon with Tezuka and Yuuta, but he didn't want to be bothered with a stranger.

"Oh, for the whole tournament," Mizuki grinned. "I brought a few of our girls here, because we have a young lady playing in Wimbledon. She's quite good. You might know her, Tezuka-san. Her name is Andi Lacey?"

Tezuka shrugged. "I don't really follow women's tennis closely enough to know of new players."

"Oh, you're probably more interested in the Russian girls, anyway," Mizuki nodded, sympathetic.

Fuji narrowed his eyes, and Yuuta smacked Mizuki's shoulder with the back of his hand. "Shut up!"

"What?" Mizuki rubbed his injury, feigning innocence. "I didn't mean anything by it."

"Of course you didn't," Tezuka sternly replied levelly. 

Mizuki looked away from Tezuka, and smiled at Fuji. "I saw your photo spread in Aperture a few months ago. Very evocative. I always think it would be so alluring if you did a series of self-portraits in a similar style."

Tezuka's hand drifted over to Fuji's knee. It was a small possessive act, but it made Fuji smile, because it recalled a thousand other such gestures, small and large, that had always made Fuji feel so desirable. He covered Tezuka's hand with his own, and sipped his iced tea. "I'm quite sure you do."

Yuuta grumbled a bit, and leaned closer to Fuji. "So, everything's... all right?"

Fuji looked confused on purpose. "Of course it is. Why would you ask?"

"Ah, I hope you don't mind an interruption," Inui cleared his throat with calculated politeness. "Tezuka, Fuji. I am most happy to see you two again. Yuuta-kun, Mizuki." Inui stood and waited for an invitation to join them, but his hand was already on the back of a chair in anticipation.

"Inui!" Fuji greeted his former manager with pleasure. "I had forgotten that you would be here."

"I will not be offended by that," Inui grinned, knowingly, taking the greeting as an implied invitation. He sat between Mizuki and Yuuta, and adjusted his glasses. "I'm certain you have been busy."

Yuuta snorted, and Mizuki looked amused, but Fuji just smiled happily and nodded. "We have been. How are you? Has your player had his first match yet?"

"Ah," Inui pulled a small notebook out of his pocket. Mizuki tried to look over Inui's shoulder to read it, but he discovered, as everyone did, that Inui had developed his own shorthand over the years, and the markings on the pages were nonsense to anyone else. "He played yesterday, on the south court. He was eliminated, as I had expected. We have much work to do."

"Well, you can't always have geniuses," Fuji winked. Tezuka's hand squeezed his knee.

Inui smirked. "Indeed. But then, I think that is just as well. It is more satisfying to lead someone to greater heights than he could have otherwise hoped to attain than it is to shepherd someone whose talent is always a mystery."

"How are the matches today going?" Tezuka asked in his direct manner.

Inui shrugged. "I have my assistant taking notes. She is terribly inefficient. It's trying. She called me to let me know that Echizen won, but that was hardly a surprise. You should be playing him in the third round, if your arm survives."

"It will," Tezuka promised.

Inui seemed to gleam. "I'm sure."

"We're going shopping," Yuuta announced, having reached his tolerance for his brother and his brother's friends. "You want anything?"

"Get me some film?" Fuji asked, in part because he was used to asking for film whenever he was out. "Ah, but... I don't think I have a camera. Get me one of those disposable ones?"

"You didn't even bring a camera to Switzerland?" Yuuta asked, astonished.

Fuji felt a bit embarrassed. He looked sidelong at Tezuka, but Tezuka did not appear to be reacting. "Ah, no, I...forgot."

It was clear that not even Mizuki believed that. "Aniki," Yuuta complained. "You could have at least taken some pictures of the chalet, and the Alps. I bet it was gorgeous."

Fuji smiled serenely. "It was."

Yuuta rolled his eyes and stood up, motioning to Mizuki to follow him. Mizuki stood very reluctantly, and smiled at Fuji. "Well, it seems we are going. I hope we will see you again soon, Fuji-kun."

Fuji just smiled as they left.

Inui leaned forward in his seat. "I don't want to disrupt your time together. I will take my leave as well. I am glad to see you two together."

"Inui, you don't have to go," Fuji protested, although he would be just as happy to be alone with Tezuka at this point. Tezuka watched Inui with a touch more earnestness than normal, indicating that he, too, did not wish to rush Inui off.

Inui grinned. "You are most kind. But it's not necessary; you two must catch up with each other. I will leave you with this. I never got a chance to give it to you before." He placed a small crystal frame on the table, with a picture of the two of them after Wimbledon, the year Fuji won. They weren't touching, but they were looking at each other, and they were both smiling. Inui stood up. "Thank you."

"Inui..." Fuji exhaled slowly, avoiding looking at the picture. 

Tezuka stood up as well, and extended his hand to Inui, who took it readily. "Thank you."

"I'll see you in Japan once this is over," Inui promised, and bowed shortly.

Tezuka sat down again, and picked up the picture. "We had champagne that night."

"We were celebrating," Fuji smiled sadly. He still didn't want to look at the picture.

"That was the best game of my life," Tezuka sighed. 

Fuji leaned back in his seat, and he watched Tezuka. "Mine, too. But then, we've covered that already."

"I've missed you, Syuusuke," Tezuka sighed, still looking at the picture. "Missed playing you. And soon... I won't be able to play you."

Fuji frowned a bit. "It's not necessary, you know."

Tezuka shrugged. "It's not important, either. I keep trying to imagine my life when I no longer play tennis every day. It's... difficult. I don't know what I will do with myself."

"Inui is in love with us. Did you know?" Sudden shifts in topic were as good a way to deal with unpleasant topics as any. Tezuka appreciated honesty, after all. 

"Of course," Tezuka replied immediately.

"You knew?" It was astonishing to realize that Tezuka had been more sensitive to this than he was.

Tezuka shrugged. "In school, he used to follow us around. Off the courts, as well. I never fully trusted him. But I was insecure then."

Fuji laughed, loudly and sharply. "'Mitsu, you have never been insecure in your life."

"Not in regards to most things," Tezuka conceded. "But I would get powerfully jealous of anyone who spent any time with you at all. I was sure, back then... that you would want someone more like yourself. Someone more... fun. I disliked Kikumaru back then, too."

Fuji chuckled softly. "I like it when you are possessive, though."

Tezuka pushed his chair closer to Fuji, and put his arm around the back of Fuji's chair. He spoke against Fuji's neck, and put his hand on Fuji's stomach. "Mm, I'm not so sure. I couldn't stand the thought of sharing you, with anyone. I even resented the time you spent with your siblings. When you told me you wanted to live in Japan while I continued to play... I couldn't hear any difference between that and you wanted to break away from me completely. It would have been better if I were more... accepting. I was selfish then. If I couldn't have you all to myself, so I thought I couldn't have you at all."

Fuji was conscious of the air moving in and out of his body. His heart was thumping slowly in his chest. He could smell the sharp, tangy scent of Tezuka's aftershave. He smiled, because he had shaved Tezuka a few hours ago. He pressed his lips to Tezuka's smooth cheek. "You said you were selfish 'then.' Does that mean you don't want me all to yourself anymore?"

"It means that I want you on whatever terms you want to set, Syuusuke. Won't be without you again," Tezuka promised.

"But you still weren't willing to share me with Keigo," Fuji mused, putting his hands on Tezuka's face, turning Tezuka to look him in the eye. "I like it when you are selfish. Just don't forget to listen to me."

"Promise," Tezuka whispered, smiling.

Fuji stood up abruptly. "Let's go," he grinned. Tezuka looked up at him, confused. "Let's get your racquets, and find a court. After all..." he swallowed hard. "Have to take the chances you get in life."

* * *

  


Yuuta was waiting in line for 'chips.' Fuji was pretty sure there was nothing more disgusting in the universe than 'chips,' especially from a fast food vendor at Wimbledon. The Australian Open had better snacks. He loved the food in Australia. 

He had time to kill, so he pulled out his credit card, and called Japan.

"Atobe." His voice sounded remarkably clear, given that he was on the other side of the planet. Fuji grinned.

"Miss me?"

He couldn't tell for sure if Atobe was sighing or just shuffling papers around. "Aren't you busy fawning over your perfect love?"

"He's getting ready for his next match," Fuji replied cheerfully. "What time is it in Tokyo?"

"I'm sure you know, Syuusuke," Atobe replied. It was hard to get a handle on the conversation. He wasn't sure if Atobe was exasperated or not.

"Working late, aren't you? Don't you have something better to do, Keigo?"

"I do," Atobe replied with humor, "but I've been chained to my desk and forced to work. It's terrible. Don't suppose you'll come and save me?"

"Match starts in ten minutes. Maybe next time." Fuji tapped his finger on the side of the phone. He had forgotten now why he had called.

"So, did you call to gloat, or were you afraid I had slashed my beautiful wrists in despair?" Atobe asked sharply.

"I had a few minutes, and I didn't know what else to do," Fuji replied with deceptive honesty.

"Well, that's not fair, is it? I can't always be here to fill in your extra moments." Atobe was teasing, but not. It was a familiar game between them.

Fuji found the game tiresome. "I suppose I should say goodbye, then."

"You already did, in Switzerland. I think. You were pretty clear, at any rate. I hope you are happy." Atobe sounded more sincere than he wanted to be. "I had nothing to do for days up there by myself."

"I'm sure you were able to entertain yourself. I recall many occasions of creativity from you." Yuuta was coming toward him with his cone of chips. Fuji sighed.

"Well, you'll have to teach Tezuka how to be creative now. I'm going to hang up, Syuusuke. Unless there was something else?"

Yuuta was almost at his elbow. "No. Take care." He hung up the phone. 

"Who'd you call?" Yuuta asked, holding onto his greasy chips.

Fuji smiled blankly. "No one. Let's get in."

* * *

  


It should have been easier this time. Really, Tezuka had dominated the match from the first game. Now, everyone was buzzing about Tezuka's chances of winning it all... There were even some who were whispering about a second Grand Slam at _his_ age.

But Tezuka was in more pain this time. Fuji sat behind Tezuka in bed, and massaged his shoulders. He had stayed, this time, and watched Tezuka's physical therapy, and had even asked the trainer about what he could do. Tezuka tried to tell him that it was all fine, but Fuji wasn't really asking him. He dug his fingers into Tezuka's flesh. These muscles, they were so precious to Tezuka, he took such pains to work them properly. And they betrayed Tezuka at every turn.

"It will get worse," Tezuka stated quietly, his fingers splayed out over the bedspread. "You know that..."

"I know," Fuji cut him off. He took a calming breath. "It doesn't have to..."

"It's all right. It's not as bad as before," Tezuka half looked over his shoulder, just enough so Fuji could see his eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Fuji laughed. "You always got treatment before. This is so irresponsible..."

"No," Tezuka shook his head and pulled away. "The last time... that was worse."

"How?" Fuji asked, plainly.

Tezuka waited for the right words to come to him. "Last time was... difficult. It wasn't at all clear that I would be able to recover at all. I had nothing. I... was at the hospital in Germany, and they were telling me that I should abandon tennis, for the sake of my arm. But, Syuusuke, I had nothing else. I couldn't... I was in pain most of the time. I could hardly lift anything at all. It was bleak."

"But this is precisely what you are headed for again," Fuji argued, pouting. 

"Not precisely," Tezuka argued. "It was... I was depressed the last time. I didn't want to think about living without tennis. I... didn't want to think about living at all. I thought, if I didn't have tennis to fall back on, then... I was nothing. I wanted to die."

Fuji inhaled sharply.

"There was a time when all the doctors were sure that I wouldn't recover the full use of my arm, and I was being counseled to quit from every angle. I was sure that if I couldn't play, I had no purpose in living. I was ready to kill myself. I even... I obtained a gun. I cleaned it, and had it ready. There was one night... I almost did it. I lost my nerve, and Sam called me about some print ad. After that, I decided that it didn't matter what the doctors said. I would play again, because I had nothing else. If it was a question of living with pain, and playing, or dying, it was a clear choice. I..."

"Stop!" Fuji threw his arms around Tezuka, and clung to him. "Stop, stop saying these things! You wanted to die? 'Mitsu!" He swallowed back his sobs. He would not cry. He could not. "Don't say something so horrible as if it was just something that happened to you."

"It happened," Tezuka replied apologetically. "It happened and then I got past it, by chance or by fate or by luck. And then, I realized, still, I couldn't play forever. That was when I had decided I would win you back. I had to. You're..."

"You only had to call me," Fuji snarled, clinging to Tezuka. "All you had to do was call me... I would have come if you had called. Damn it, 'Mitsu... Do you know what you would have done to me if you had killed yourself? Even now, just thinking of you holding a gun to your head..." Fuji could not stop shivering. He clung as tightly as he could to Tezuka, to keep from showing his fear. "How could you have thought to do something like that to me?"

Tezuka ran his hands over Fuji's arms. "I'm sorry. I swear, next time..."

"There won't ever be a 'next time,'" Fuji ordered. "If this is what happens to you without me..."

Tezuka turned around in Fuji's arms. He sighed, and touched Fuji's face, reverently, his eyes half closed. "I will never be without you again, my beloved."

Fuji tried to satisfy himself with just holding Tezuka tightly in his arms, but he needed more proof. Tezuka's body was sluggish, but he reacted to each touch, each kiss. He was tight, so tight, but they opened him together. Fuji pushed inside of Tezuka gently, careful of his shoulder, careful not to hurt, careful to show Tezuka pleasure, to show him life.

He fell asleep on Tezuka's sweaty chest, with Tezuka's arms around him, and when he woke up, the first thing he was aware of was Tezuka's heartbeat.

* * *

  


Tennis stadiums were generally quiet during a match, but today, it felt like the quiet of a funeral parlor; at least, it would if funeral parlors were put right next to the room where the soon-to-be-deceased was in the process of becoming deceased, and all the mourners came early enough to hear the death throes.

Fuji didn't expect Echizen to go easy on Tezuka. That wasn't the point. For some reason, it looked like Echizen was going all out against Tezuka, who was ignoring everything in his attempts to return every shot.

Tezuka screamed out in pain every time he hit the ball, ever since he returned the smash in the third game of the first set. He was still using his left arm, though. There had been buzzing about that, but now they were in the third set, and no one was speaking anymore.

Yuuta reached out and took his brother's hand, and held it in both of his. This was torture. Fuji wanted someone to make this stop. Sweat was pouring off of Tezuka's body like Fuji had never seen before.

He could never imagined that anything would be this _hard_. It no longer made any sense to him, except he realized it made sense to the two men on the court, and for that, he resented Echizen like he had never resented anyone before in his life.

Eventually, Fuji couldn't watch anymore, and he put his head on Yuuta's shoulder, and shut his eyes tightly. He wouldn't leave, though. He would hear every scream. He would be here for Tezuka as Tezuka destroyed himself forever.

* * *

  


It was a different scene in the locker room this time. Echizen had helped Tezuka make it there, and as soon as Tezuka saw Fuji, he fell to Fuji's feet, and wouldn't let anyone else near him. Fuji had to tear Tezuka's shirt off, and give him the cortisone shot, getting hushed directions from the medic. He wrapped Tezuka's arm, and slipped a Happi jacket on him gently, so as not to disturb his arm.

Tezuka was taking small, even breaths, and kept his head tucked on Fuji's shoulder. Apparently, Tezuka didn't find it unusual at all to trust Fuji so completely. Fuji tended to Tezuka carefully, in honor of that trust.

The trainer and the doctor and coach all wanted Tezuka to go to the hospital. They had medics and an ambulance ready. Tezuka refused. Fuji determinedly went about fulfilling Tezuka's wishes. Sam quietly calmed everyone down, but when it came time to leave, Fuji kindly told her that her services were no longer required.

He didn't need any help to take Tezuka home.

* * *

  


He sat in the hallway, his back against their hotel door. Yuuta begrudgingly sat down next to him, because it was the only way to get Fuji to speak. Tezuka had finally consented to taking enough painkillers to sleep, so Fuji was just waiting for the hours between the now and the time to leave for Japan to go away.

Once again, Yuuta tried to engage his brother in conversation. "Echizen called. He wanted to know how Tezuka was. I told him not to worry, and to focus on winning."

"The Spaniard will win," Fuji replied automatically. It was true, though. He was three years Echizen's junior, and at the peak of his game. He would be impossible to stop. 

Yuuta grunted. "Still sure you made the right choice?"

Fuji didn't respond right away. He waited until he was ready. "What's going on with Mizuki?"

Yuuta shrugged, uncomfortable. "Nothing, really. Just... as long as I'm here, thought... you know."

"And?" Fuji wasn't in the mood for generalities. 

Yuuta sighed. "Don't worry, Aniki. I tried to kiss him earlier, but he told me to go back home to my cute little sweetheart with a clear conscious." Yuuta looked away, obviously displeased with being rebuffed. But then, Yuuta never had liked being told what to do.

"And? Is that what you want?" Fuji wasn't looking at his brother, but he was almost facing him, and that was as much as he could move right then.

"I think so," Yuuta sighed. "I'm always coming up with six million excuses why it won't work. Mizuki thinks I'm afraid."

"Are you?" Fuji wondered.

"It's scary, though, isn't it?" Yuuta challenged.

Fuji wasn't sure. He had never been afraid of it. Whatever it was. But then, he'd gotten hurt, too. "It can be. It can be the other thing, too."

"The other thing?" Yuuta asked, amused.

It was always nice to amuse his little brother. "Good. It can be good, too."

"Is it good?" Yuuta asked, looking at the wall as if he could see through it to see Tezuka on the bed.

Fuji smiled. "I love him."

"I hope you haven't told him that, yet," Yuuta muttered. "He deserves to suffer."

Fuji felt sick. "He is suffering, Yuuta."

"So he is," Yuuta agreed, quietly. "I'm sorry, Aniki."

"No reason to be," Fuji smiled. He even sounded empty. "Tomorrow, we'll be back in Japan. Everything will work out."

"It better," Yuuta sighed.

"Yuuta..." Fuji glanced at Yuuta quickly. "If you don't love this girl, don't bother. It gets... too complicated when it's not because of love."

There was quiet for a moment, and then Yuuta scooted over, and put his head on Fuji's shoulder. "Do you miss Atobe?"

The question left Fuji feeling cold. "Of course. But I'll get over it.

"I never stopped missing Kunimitsu."

Yuuta closed his eyes, and accepted his brother's choice.

* * *

  


Even in first class, Tezuka couldn't get comfortable. He shifted in his seat so many times, Fuji was ready to just knock him unconscious. There was a small wrinkle between Tezuka's eyes, like he was concentrating really hard. That was the only outward manifestation of his pain.

Fuji picked up Tezuka's hand, and kissed his fingers, kissed his palm, licking the skin enough to tantalize.

"Syuusuke..." Tezuka breathed.

"Will you take a sedative if I tell you a secret?" Fuji grinned.

Tezuka shook his head. "I hate those things. You know that."

"It's a good secret, though," Fuji winked.

Tezuka watched Fuji for a moment, and then shrugged. He was too uncomfortable to really resist, after all.

Fuji leaned over to whisper in Tezuka's ear. "I love you, Tezuka Kunimitsu."

Tezuka let his head drop onto Fuji's shoulder. "Forever, my beloved."

Fuji displaced Tezuka's head as he leant down to get the bag with the pills.

"Hey..." Tezuka began, but Fuji raised an eyebrow.

"You promised," Fuji warned, and he shook out one blue pill. 

Tezuka sighed, and took the pill with no water. "I'm sorry that I'm a burden," he said without looking at Fuji.

Fuji pushed Tezuka's head back onto his shoulder. He kissed the top of Tezuka's head affectionately. "It's all right. I can bear it."


	10. Epilogue

It started to rain just as he left the rehabilitation center. People around him started to flutter, whipping out umbrellas and hurrying to their destinations. He let the rain fall on him, and he walked sedately to the closest coffee house.

It was crowded with people who were escaping the wetness. He waited patiently in line, and then carried his cup around, looking for a seat. Someone would eventually stand up. This was a certainty. He was patient.

"Fancy meeting you here. Dare I hope your better half is with you?"

He turned, and greeted Atobe passively with a small nod. "Syuusuke is at home." He started to turn away, but Atobe clucked his tongue.

"Tezuka, don't be an ass. Sit down." Atobe picked up his newspaper, clearing some room for Tezuka's coffee.

If something could not be avoided, it had to be bourn. Tezuka set down his cup, and brushed some crumbs off of his chair. "I'd say it's a bit odd to see a corporate executive in a crowded coffee house in the middle of the day."

Atobe shrugged, smiling. "No more odd than seeing a tennis star with a gimpy arm. How is it, by the way? "

"I'm fine," Tezuka replied blankly. People asked him about his arm all the time. His answer was always the same. It was what it was. There was nothing more to it.

"Hm," Atobe sniffed. "And how is Syuusuke? I trust you are taking good care of him."

"Of course," Tezuka coolly answered, watching Atobe closely as he lifted his cup. "I read that you were getting married."

"Perhaps," Atobe sniffed. "The papers were a bit premature. I saw Syuusuke's latest show. I'm jealous."

"Oh? Miss being in the spotlight?" Tezuka asked without masking his boredom.

"I miss being in his viewfinder," Atobe smirked. "And now he's doing his best work to date. Unfair."

Tezuka sat up a bit straighter, but had nothing to say. He wasn't able to judge Fuji's photography. It looked good to him, but it had always looked good to him. Fuji would patiently explain technical and aesthetic considerations to him, but he didn't always understand. He just knew that Fuji's photos seemed to breathe. When he told Fuji that, he earned himself a smile that he would never forget.

"So," Atobe leaned forward, grinning. "Who's winning?"

Tezuka raised an eyebrow at Atobe.

Atobe chuckled. "The game. It's always a game with him. So who is winning?"

Tezuka sipped his coffee. "Doesn't Syuusuke always win?"

"Ah," Atobe leaned back, and looked away. Tezuka supposed that Atobe was beautiful, but he couldn't see past the jealousy that this was someone who had put his hands on Fuji. "Well, that's true. I suppose I should pity you, then, but you really are one lucky son of a bitch."

Tezuka didn't appreciate Atobe referring to his mother in that fashion, but no comment at all was probably the best way to express that. 

Atobe stood up, and wiped his coat off before putting it on. "Just don't forget. There's no room for error in this game. Your competition is biting at your ankles, Tezuka. Everyone is eagerly awaiting your fall."

Tezuka looked away from Atobe. "If you say so."

Atobe shook his head. "I met Syuusuke in this coffee house five years ago, give or take. We sat over there and argued about tennis and politics and class responsibilities. I told him I could beat him at handball just so I would have a chance to meet him again." He smiled, and shook his head. "Everything ends, Tezuka."

Tezuka set his cup down, and looked vaguely in the direction of Atobe's reminiscences. "Indeed. Though, even amid the chaos, there are always constants."

"So confident," Atobe murmured under his breath. "Well, be good to him. He picked you, after all."

Tezuka watched Atobe leave, and he nursed his coffee until the rain came to a stop. He sat and watched the sun come out again, and make everything glitter brightly. 

When he got home, Fuji was on his stomach on the floor, dozens of glossy black and white photographs surrounding him. He looked over his shoulder at Tezuka, and grinned. "Afternoon. How'd therapy go?"

Tezuka didn't bother with banalities with his beloved. He stretched his arm out in front of him and demonstrated his limited flexibility for Fuji. 

Whatever criteria Fuji was using to judge, he deemed Tezuka's progress suitable, and he gave his attention back to the photographs. Tezuka kneeled down next to Fuji, and slipping his hand under the shirt that had, at one time, belonged to him. 

"I ran into Atobe at a coffee house today," he commented softly.

"Oh?" There was a tiny bit of tension in Fuji's back and voice, but Tezuka understood it.

He leaned down, and kissed the back of Fuji's neck, pushing his hair away with his nose. "He wanted to know who was winning, you or I."

"What did you tell him?" Fuji asked, distractedly amused.

"You always win, my beloved." This was a fact, as far as Tezuka was concerned. It was a fact he was completely comfortable with, so he had no need to shrink from it.

"Is that what you said?" Fuji propped himself up on one elbow so he could look at Tezuka. His gaze was sharply measuring. "You mean you never figured it out?"

Tezuka waited patiently for Fuji to inform him of his error.

"I realized it a long time ago. During that last match, actually. Do you remember? We crossed each other, changing courts, and I told you we would have to celebrate? Do you mean you never knew?" Fuji was grinning, but his eyes were watching Tezuka carefully.

Tezuka leaned down to kiss Fuji fleetingly. "I remember. But I don't know what you mean."

Fuji sat up, and put his hands on Tezuka's neck, caressing Tezuka's jugular as he smiled. "When it's you and I... there is no 'winner' or 'loser,' because it's not a game. When it's you and I, it's life."


End file.
